Harry Potter and the Half Blood Fanfic
by Potter47
Summary: Who is the mysterious Half Blood Prince? Formerly just the same as it is now, only with Prince instead of Fanfic, which was perhaps a bit misleading. People thought that this was serious, for some reason...Please review. PARODY! CHAPTER 12! COMPLETE!
1. Po Turforti Seén

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince  


_Potter47****_

One  
Po Turforti-Seén 

On the fourteenth of October, in Harry Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts, he met a boy, who just happened to be a third-year Gryffindor, that he had never met before. This boy's name was Po. _Po Turforti-Seén, _that is. Everyone who met the boy just _knew _he would be key in the fight against Voldemort.

"Hello," Po usually said as way of greeting. "I'm going to be key in the fight against Voldemort. See, I even said his name. And I'm not an example of author insertion at _all_."

Of course, many of the students at Hogwarts had absolutely no idea what Po meant by "author insertion," but they hardly cared. As aforementioned, Po was going to be key in the fight against Voldemort; this was all that mattered.

If you wish to know what Po looked like, he had light-brown hair (obviously his father's) bright brown eyes (obviously his mother's), black glasses (obviously his own), and a scar on his forehead (obviously resulting from a head-on collision with a bookshelf, when he was two); if you do not wish to know what Po looked like, I certainly hope you skipped over this paragraph.

In the sixth year History of Magic class, (which, as you know, Harry Potter had no possible way of getting into, with the failed O. W. L., but was let in anyway, because if he was not present, the book would not be called what it was called, and may well have been about some pillar of parental love), Hermione Granger did something she had not done since second year; she raised her hand.

Of course, this was utterly absurd, as Hermione had not gone a single day without raising her hand, even during the holidays. "Can you pass the orange juice?" she would ask her mum with her hand raised. It was simply impolite to speak out of turn.

"Yes? Miss... Grant?" Professor Binns said, pointing to Hermione after a few minutes.

"Granger," she corrected. "I was just wondering... could you tell us the legend of the Half Blood Prince?"

Everyone in the class instantly awoke from their slumbers. _The Half Blood Prince? Who the hell is that?_ they wondered, for there was no significant reason (that they knew of) to prompt such a question. No writing on walls, nothing.

"The Half Blood Prince?" said Professor Binns, as if he had heard wrong. "Why would you want to hear about that?"

"Because," said Hermione, "the book's called "_Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince,_" and until now, no-one's mentioned a thing about him! We have to do _something_ related to a Half Blood Prince, or the book might as well be called _The Pillar of Storgé!_"

"Yes, I suppose you're right about that," said Professor Binns, shivering. "We don't want something as dreadful as that... but the Half Blood Prince has nothing whatsoever to do with goblin rebellions!" the ghost whined. "Oh, well...

"The legend of the Half Blood Prince is a legend that has been passed down from generation to generation. There was a prophecy made, thousands of years ago, that foretold of his coming."

The ghost cleared his throat, and began to recite it:

"_In Harry Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts, a mysterious Half Blood Prince with make his presence known... On the fourteenth of October, the boy will introduce himself to Harry Potter, and make no mistake... he will be key in the fight against Voldemort. He will have his mother's hair, his father's eyes, black glasses, and a scar on his forehead, (no doubt from a run in with a bookshelf) and will be named Po Turforti-Seén... but he is in NO WAY an example of author insertion..._"

And here Professor Binns concluded. Hermione looked as though she was absorbing the prophecy completely, and was now narrowing down who it might be; there were many Po Turforti-Seéns at Hogwarts, after all.

But Ron looked at Binns disbelievingly. "_That's_ a prophecy? A bit specific, don't you think?"

"Yeah," said Harry, "but what _is_ 'author insertion'? That's the second time I've heard that term in..."

"SHH!" said Hermione annoyedly, which is not a word, but most definitely should be. "I'm trying to figure out who the Half Blood Prince is!"

"Obviously," said Ron logically, "it's that Turforti-Seén kid in third year. Who else could it be? And he even said he'd be key in the fight against Voldemort...and that he wasn't an example of author insertion! How much proof do you need?"

"And that scar on his forehead," piped up Neville Longbottom. "It _clearly_ came from a run in with a bookshelf when he was two!"

"But..." began Hermione. "But there's supposed to be a big mystery! To discover the secret identity of the Half Blood Prince!"

"It's not a secret!"

"Thanks to you!"

And the bell rang. Not that it really mattered. Ron and Hermione obviously stopped arguing as soon as the narrative returned, in their voices' stead.

As Halloween approached, whispers followed both Harry and Po everywhere they went. Why Halloween, you ask? Well, for one thing, it _was _approaching. And for another, it was the fifteenth anniversary of Harry's parents' death. It seemed inevitable that Po -- er, _Harry_, that is -- was going to have some kind of showdown with Voldemort.

On the thirtieth of October, Harry wondered exactly why 'thirtieth' had two 'i's in it. What was wrong with 'thirtyeth?' Or 'thirteeth?' It puzzled him endlessly, and he could not sleep a wink. He decided to go down to the common room, as he was clearly not going to get to sleep.

The common room was seemingly empty when Harry took a seat in one of the great comfy (_Such a nice word, _thought Harry) armchairs in front of the dying fire. Of course, if the common room was _really_ empty, there would be absolutely no point in telling the tale of Harry's restless night. So, quite predictably, a voice surprised Harry so much that he jumped a foot in the air.

"What're you doing down here?" came the aforementioned voice. Harry knew at once that it was Po, despite the fact that he had scarcely heard the boy's voice twice.

"Not sleeping is what I'm doing down here," Harry replied, glad to see a familiar face, despite the fact that he had scarcely seen the boy's face twice. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought you could use some company."

__

Oh, that was thoughtful. He really is such a nice kid... "Thanks," said Harry, despite the fact that there was no way the boy should have known to come down.

"So," said Po suddenly. "Tomorrow's the night."

"Yup," said Harry, perfectly okay with talking of his parents with Po. After all, they were practically best friends. "Fifteen years."

"I know how you feel," said Po understandingly. "Both my parents were killed by a falling bookshelf. Dad was a Muggle, and Mum was a squib, but I still miss 'em both, you know?"

"Yup."

And so, the two kindred spirits sat together, in silent mourning of their dead parents.

"You know," said Po, "I used to think I was just an ordinary kid. With a squib for a mum, and a Muggle for a dad, no one really had much hope for me. I was just normal."

"I know _exactly _what you mean."

"But then I got the letter, and--"

"Oh, I remember when I got my Hogwarts letter..."

"No," said Po. "Not my Hogwarts letter. _The_ letter. The letter that changed my life forever."

"Your Hogwarts letter didn't change your life?"

"Not as much. Not nearly."

Harry was nearly dying of anticipation. What could have been in this letter? Not to mention; why was dying spelt with a 'y' and no 'e'? And why wasn't 'spelled' ever used, instead of 'spelt?' Didn't it sound just as good?

"Well?" said Harry.

"Oh, look," said Po, gesturing at the table in front of them. "A purple polka-dotted tablecloth. Where'd that come from?"

"I dunno," said Harry distractedly. "_What was in your letter?_"

"Oh, that," said Po. "I can't really remember. But I'm sure it must have been really life-changing."

Harry's heart sunk. He just knew this would have given them the last thing needed to defeat Voldemort. He didn't know why -- and frankly, it made no sense whatsoever -- but he did.

"Oh yeah!" said Po suddenly, remembering. "It said Dad had been king of Greenland."

"But Greenland doesn't have a _king--_" Harry began, remembering what Hermione had said about the Provincial Court of Godthab, Greenland.

"Well, he's dead, isn't he?" said Po. "So, I'm the Prince of Greenland. And when I'm old enough, I become king. Unless Voldemort kills me, of course; I am a half blood, after all."

Something in his words reminded Harry of History of Magic class. Now, Harry shouldn't have _had_ History of Magic class, because of his non-existent O. W. L. in that subject. But he _was _there, and he heard the legend of the Half Blood Prince. When Po had said _Prince of Greenland _and _I'm a half blood_ in the same breath, it had registered in Harry's mind that he _had_ to be the Half Blood Prince, even if Greenland _had_ the Provincial Court of Godthab.

"Po," said Harry, "have you heard of the legend of the Half Blood Prince?"

"Half blood prince?" repeated Po, not pronouncing the capital letters at _all_.

"No," said Harry. "_H_alf _B_lood _P_rince."

"_Oh!_" said Po. "_H_alf _B_lood _P_rince!"

"Yes," said Harry.

"Never heard of him," said Po.

Harry was about to tell the boy of the fate that lie ahead of him, but something stopped him. He knew what it felt like to have a prophecy made about you. No, not _you_. _Him_. But he did not think that Po would like knowing that he would be a key in the fight against Voldemort.

Of course, Po already knew this. Remember his greeting? "Hello," Po usually said, as you remember. "I'm going to be key in the fight against Voldemort. See, I even said his name. And I'm not an example of author insertion at _all_."

Now, author insertion aside, Po had practically told everyone in the castle that he was the Half Blood Prince. Even if he didn't technically _know,_ he still did _know_.

Harry shook his head, confuzzled, which is not a word, though it most definitely should be.

"It's late," said Harry. "I think I'll go up to bed."

Of course, the mystery of the spelling of 'thirtieth' had now been joined by 'spelt' and 'dying', so Harry had about as little chance of getting sleep as a sloth would, if said sloth were having a slumber party with all its slothy friends. 'Slothy' is, of course, not a word, but it most definitely should be.

When Harry awoke from his night of insomnia -- a statement that makes no sense whatsoever -- he wondered just how clean the inside of the antibacterial hand sanitizer bottles were. Quite simply, if the gellike -- which is not a word, but should be -- substance cleaned hands, the bottle would have to be as clean as a Greenlandish whistle, if whistles in Greenland were indeed clean. _Or maybe_, thought Harry_, the bottle gets drunk from the sixty-two percent alcohol in the gellike substance..._

Harry was shaken out of his reverie--quite literally--by Ron.

"What're you doing, Ron?" said Harry groggily, a word which here means 'sleepily'. "What time s'it?"

"Harry, you've _got_ to get up! It's Halloween! And guess what? Po Turforti-Seén just defeated Voldemort!"

"What? But the prophecy said…"

"Exactly! The prophecy said that '…he will be key in the fight against Voldemort!' And he was! He just saved the whole wizarding world, while you were asleep!"

"But that's ab--"

Harry was going to say 'absurd' but didn't feel like finishing it. It wasn't all that absurd, actually. Harry realised that Po had (1) been born at the end of July, (2) been marked by the Dark Lord -- as it had been revealed that Voldemort was behind the infamous Bookshelf Attacks of Greenland -- and (3) had been prophecised about in not one but _two_ prophecies. After all that had happened, all that Harry had been through, the prophecy hadn't meant him after all. It had meant Po.

For some reason, however, he didn't seem to mind. If it wasn't him, Po was the best person he could think of, after all.

And so the wizarding world lived happily ever after -- a phrase that here tells you to go read Po's short book, entitled 'Happily Ever After,' on fanfiction.net, and review it.

But first, be sure to review this heroic tale of Po's bravery, in which he vanquished the Dark Lord while Harry Potter slept. Or maybe while he _sleeped?_ Doesn't it sound just as good?

**_

Finis 

_**

Po's note: Hello, dear reader. I'd just like to add a bit of background here: After I vanquished the Dark Lord at the young age of thirteen, I then went on to become to King of Greenland, and now happily write fanfiction in my spare time. Though, of course, I am not an example of author insertion _at all._ No, no, that would be silly.

Author's Note: I'm sorry, I only just got away! Po Turforti-Seén had kidnapped me, locked me in the dungeon of his Greenlandish Castle and forced me to write his fictional story. Why did he target me? My name, of course:

Potter Forty Seven  
Po Turforti-Seén

When he found out of this shocking coincidence, he forced me to chronicle his made-up tale of his time at Hogwarts, feeding me only cold cucumber soup during the entire time. And, as you may have previously read, cold cucumber soup is just dreadful when trapped in a cold dungeon.

The experience, however, has inspired me to write this series of short stories chronicaling the possible _real_ explanations of the infamous "Half Blood Prince." If you continue to read this story, you will no doubt hear of even crazier possibilities than the one you have just had the misfortune to behold.

I do this as a service to you, the reader, to keep you occupied until such a time that J. K. Rowling finishes the _real_ "Half Blood Prince," or that I am able to complete the next chapter of "Believe in Yesterday," whichever comes first. (Hopefully, it will be the latter).

I also do this as a way of illuminating you on the sheer ridiculousness that some theories have represented. I'm not naming any names, but…oh, I must move quickly.

So, until I have such a chance as to post the next H.B.P.P. (Half Blood Prince Possibility), you may do well in reading my story, "Happily Ever After" which is indeed _my _story, and not Po's.

Off you get.


	2. The Half Blood Pince

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince  
_Potter47_

**__**

Two  
The Half Blood Pince

In Hogwarts School of Witchcraft of Wizardry, there were quite a number of half bloods. In fact, they probably made up _half_ the school! Get it? Oh, bother.

But only one of these half bloods happen to be the subject of this tale. You see, it had been foretold, by the centaurs, that the Dark Lord Voldemort would be defeated "_One hundred-eighty moons after the first fall of evil_…" After a great deal of calculations, it had been determined that this meant fifteen years after he first fell. Which meant, in turn, that Voldemort would be defeated during Harry Potter's sixth year at Hogwarts.

Now, it had also been predicted by the centaurs (and in the same breath, at that), that a mysterious figure known only as the "_Half Blood Prince_" would assist in the Dark Lord's defeat. Rumours spread throughout the school, and it seemed everyone had their own opinion on who it would be.

Neville Longbottom, for instance, was quite convinced that it would be his toad, Trevor. "He's half oak toad, and half cane toad!" said Neville excitedly. And the boy would watch his toad all day, and would let him go wherever he wanted, because he was clearly going to save all their lives.

Trevor, on the other hand, along with _most_ (but not all) of the population of Hogwarts, believed that Harry Potter was the most likely candidate for the Half Blood Prince. _After all, he's half blood, and who knows where he got all that money? Maybe he's royalty…._

But Harry Potter, contrary to popular belief, was _not _the Half Blood Prince. He tried to tell everyone this, but no one would listen. _After all_, they reasoned_, how would he know?_

But Harry _did_ know, because of the other prophecy; he couldn't possibly 'assist in the Dark Lord's defeat,' if he was the one doing the defeating himself. Only a small group of people believed him, namely the Weasleys and Hermione.

Hermione was not all that much better than Neville, however. She too had a very out-there suspect for Half Blood Prince. (Many of said suspects will be subjects of future HBPPs, though I doubt a single person remembers what the second 'p' stands for).

"It just _has_ to be Crookshanks!" she would say, again, and again, and again. "You see, I've been reading up about cats, and it turns out Crookie is really half-Kneazle! So he's half blood, and he's always trotting around like a prince, so..."

But Crookshanks, too, was not the true Half Blood Prince. No one in the entire school, in fact, suspected the correct person (or animal). Not even Dumbledore, who was quite convinced that Fawkes had been lying about his heritage, had cast his suspicions correctly.

"Who do you suspect?" Dumbledore asked Snape at suppertime one day, in October.

"I don't particularly care, Headmaster," said Snape curtly, jabbing his fork into his steak. "If this Prince can help defeat Voldemort, I'm fine with that, but I believe things have gotten out of hand."

"Oh, come on Severus," said Dumbledore playfully. "Surely you have someone in mind?"

"Professor, quite frankly, I wouldn't care if the Half Blood Prince turns out to be Madam _Pince. _Please let me eat my steak."

"As you wish, Severus," said Dumbledore, sighing. "As you wish."

Halloween came as quick as a snail, if that snail had a charm on it to make it go very fast.

Halloween marked, as you can deduct with simple maths, the fifteenth anniversary of the Potter's deaths. This meant that the one hundred-eighty moons had gone by, and Voldemort would be vanquished. And no one in the school, (even dear Severus), knew who the saviour was, who lurked among the shadows.

Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley sat in the library, of all places, on All Hallow's Eve Eve. That is, the day before the day before November the First. That is, 30 October.

"What are you two doing in the library, of all places, on the day before Halloween?" Madam Pince asked them suspiciously. "Shouldn't you be preparing your defeat of the Dark Lord, Potter?"

"We _are_ preparing," said Ginny defensively.

"We're looking up spells," said Harry. "No one said _how_ I'm supposed to defeat Voldemort, after all…"

"Isn't the," and here Madam Pince paused, an amused look coming over her face for a moment, "_Half Blood Prince_, supposed to help you?" she asked.

"Well, yes," said Ginny. "But no-one knows who that is, do they? How do we even know he's going to show up?"

"Oh, the..._prince_, will show up," said Madam Pince assuredly. "Believe me. Now, either borrow those books, or get out of my library!"

And so, after the rather odd encounter, Harry and Ginny did indeed borrow the books, and took them to the Gryffindor common room.

"That was a rather odd encounter," said Harry to Ginny, opening _For Dark Lords: A Guide for Self Immortality_, (which was, quite suspiciously, by Quentin Trimble) and searching for any weaknesses.

"Yes," said Ginny. "I bet Madam Pince knows more than she lets on…"

"Of _course_ she does!" said Hermione, walking up to them. "What do you think she does in the _library_ all day? Paint her nails?"

"Hey," said Harry, curiously, "why are they called 'nails' anyway? Wouldn't 'finger-tip-covers' be more accurate? And what's the use of fingernails anyway? Do they have a real purpose?"

"They make it easier to grasp things," said Hermione automatically. "But Madam Pince--"

"Then what's the use of toenails?" interrupted Harry. "We don't grasp things with our toes, so--"

"They...I...I don't know," said Hermione. "But the thing is--"

"Stop interrupting, Harry," interrupted Ginny.

"Me? You're the one who just--"

"NEVER MIND!" exclaimed Hermione exasperatedly. "Just keep on looking--it doesn't matter!"

And with that, she left.

"Why'd she leave?" said Harry. He was confuzzled, which, as you know, is not a word though it most definitely should be.

"I dunno," said Ginny. And with that, she opened _Dreadful De-animations of Dark's Darkest Dark Lords_, which had an unnecessarily long and alliterated title, for a book of only fifty pages.

And so, they read.

And read.

And blued.

And purpled.

And, once again, they read.

After hours of colouring, Harry said, "Gin, I don't think we're going to find anything tonight."

"No, I don't suppose we will. But Halloween's tomorrow! And--"

"Today, you mean," came a voice from the portrait hole. Harry and Ginny could not look around, as they were English. It is physically impossible for an English person to look 'around.' Seriously. Ask any English writers you know.

And though they could not look around, they did look round, and saw the unusual sight that met their eyes. It was unusual because, no matter how hard they tried, they could not think of anytime previously that a one-person army had arrived, uninvited, at the Gryffindor common room. Invited, yes; but never _uninvited_.

Who was this one-person army? Well, it is rather obvious: the Half Blood Prince, of course!

But…wait! I said 'one-person army'…. If it was a _prince_, it would have to be male, and I would most likely have said 'one-man army'. But, as I didn't say 'one-man army' the person could not possibly be male, and therefore, could not be the Half Blood Prince.

And, as Harry and Ginny saw the woman that I am so expertly avoiding saying the name of, they could not imagine in a thousand years that she was a Prince_ss_, so the prophecy must have been wrong entirely.

As you may have guessed, by the above chapter title, Professor Snape had a way of _never_ being wrong. He hadn't been wrong about Harry's father, James, being a complete git; he hadn't been wrong about Gilderoy Lockhart, the fraud, being a complete git; and he hadn't been wrong about this, either.

"Madam _Pince?_" said Harry, much to my dismay, foiling my plans of keeping this person in mystery. "_You're_ the Half Blood Prince?"he asked bewilderedly.

"Of course I'm not," said Madam Pince. "Not only am I female, but I am most definitely not _royalty_."

You see, the centaur who made the prophecy had had a bit of a cold. When everyone thought he had said 'Half Blood Prince', he _really_ said that the wizarding world's saviour would be a--

"Half Blood _Pince,_ that's me."

"But then…"

"Yes, Potter. _I'm_ going to help you defeat Voldemort."

"But you're…" began Ginny.

"A librarian? What do you think I do all day, paint my nails? I've been reading up on this sort of thing. In fact," she said, pulling a book out from her robes, "this book right here is going to solve all the problems in the wizarding world."

"What's in it?" asked Ginny excitedly.

"That's not important right now," said Pince, which I am now going to refer to her by, because it is five letters shorter than 'Madam Pince' and quite a bit shorter than 'the Half Blood Pince.'

"But--"

"Follow me, children," said the librarian, gesturing to the open portrait hole. "We must fly."

"Then I'll get my Fireb--"

"No, not _really_ fly!" said Pince exasperatedly. "I mean we must move _very, very_ quickly! Now, move!"

Now, from many years of being in charge of Hogwarts' library, Pince had gotten quite a bit of skill in the art of Telling Kids What To Do, which, as you might know, is the official art of Greenland. No offence to any Greenlandish readers… but your teachers sure are strict. And so are your princes.

And so, Harry and Ginny _moved_. No, they did not change the location at which their home was located; they simply changed the location at which _they_ were located.

The trio walked _very, very_ quickly through the halls of Hogwarts, until they finally reached the front doors. When they did so, they _opened _the front doors. Unbelievable, isn't it?

Treading on the soft grass, the trio made their way to the front gates, which were, as you know, topped with winged boars. I never knew why…you would think that they would be topped with warthogs, wouldn't you? Or hogs that _had_ warts? Or the warts themselves? But, no, they were topped with winged boars, for no apparent reason, and Pince, Harry, and Ginny made their way through them. Not that it was a very long journey; the gates were not very wide at all, you see.

On second thought, maybe the 'winged' part had something to do with _when pigs fly..._

Harry was reminded -- for no real reason, except to connect this story with the events of his second year, which were originally going to include the unveiling of Madam Pince's secret identity -- of the events of his second year. He remembered the wall writing, the petrified persons, and the chilling chamber, which were all unnecessarily alliterated, just as Ginny's book had been.

And he remembered Ginny, lying cold on the chamber floor. He remembered what he had thought to be the worst day of his life. And now, looking at Ginny, walking in front of him, he realised just how much he cared for her. If anything happened to Ginny...well, he didn't want to think about that...

__

But wait, you think, _that was unnecessary and not integral to the plot! What's going on?_

Ah, but that's where you're wrong. It _was_ necessary to the plot. Or at least, Harry thought it was. You see, while remembering his second year, he also remembered his fifth year, and the first prophecy. _The power the Dark Lord knows not...it must be love. And now that I realise that I love Ginny, I can defeat Voldemort!_

Of course, that was not true; they were, at the moment, absolutely nowhere near Voldemort. Oh, wait. Now they were.

For with a _crack _like a whip crack, or a faint _pop_ depending on which sound the Dark Lord would make when he Apparated in front of Harry, Pince, and Ginny, the Dark Lord Apparated in front of Harry, Pince, and Ginny.

"Hello," said Harry confidently. "My name is Harry Potter. You killed my father. Prepare to die!"

"Oh _for the love of Merlin!_" shouted Pince. "That line has been used _far_ too many times in fanfiction. Especially in those SSHG ones, which all seem to reference 'The Princess Bride…'"

"What?" said Harry, Ginny, and Voldemort simultaneously, turning to look at the librarian.

"Hi-_yah!_" shouted said librarian, taking advantage of the Dark Lord's confuzzledness (which is not a word either, though it definitely should be) to retrieve the book from her robes and smack it over his head. Voldemort fell to the grass with a _thunk!_

"You attacked a Dark Lord... You attacked a Dark Lord...," Hermione whimpered, staring at the lifeless Voldemort with frightened eyes. "Oh, you're going to be in so much trouble --"

"Hermione!" cried Harry. "When did you get here? And what are you on about--"

"Potter!" barked Snape, who had also just appeared out of nowhere. You see, the Dark Lord's defeat is not something that can only have two witnesses. Four is a much better number, and as such, two further witnesses had promptly appeared. "I strongly recommend _killing_ the Dark Lord, not just staring at his lifeless form with a frightened look on your face like the know-it-all here--"

"I'm not frightened!" said Harry. But he did what his Potions Master said anyway.

Gathering all the hatred he held for Voldemort, he pointed his wand at the fallen Dark Lord. This man had killed his parents. He had killed Cedric. He had, although indirectly, killed Sirius. He had nearly killed Ginny. And, with all these thoughts in mind, Harry Potter did the one thing he had wanted to do ever since he had first gotten his wand, when he first heard about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

He stuck his wand up the Dark Lord's nose.

"Potter!" exclaimed Snape and Pince, while Hermione and Ginny exclaimed "Harry!"

"Sorry," said Harry apologetically. "I've just always wanted to do that…."

Removing his wand, he was misfortunate enough to see that Voldemort had a cold, and yellow bogeys covered his wand. He recalled Ron's words in first year: "Urgh - troll bogeys."

He wiped them on Voldemort's trousers.

Harry stared at the man who had caused all the misfortune in his life, including that stubbed toe he had gotten last week while pondering whether the Dark Lord preferred boxers or briefs. He pointed his wand.

"_Abracadaver!_"

This was a spell that Harry and Ginny had found. It worked perfectly.

Voldemort was abruptly transfigured into a dead, rotting corpse, and immediately, larvae began chewing up his eyeballs. It really was a terrible sight to behold. All those bugs, and no bunnies for miles.

And that is the end of our tale. Except, of course, for the rest of Harry's sixth and seventh years. One must wonder what he does during this boring, safe time.

Sadly, just like the eternal question, 'How many licks does it take to get to the Tootsie Roll centre of a Tootsie Pop?', the world may never know.

**_

Finis 

_**

Author's Notes:

If anyone is curious, it takes approximately 262 licks to get to the Tootsie Roll centre of a Tootsie Pop.

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince has only just begun. Many more unbelievable and completely false tales are coming soon. Be sure to continue reading. But surely, you think, I must be running out of ideas? No, not in the least. I have many, many more H.B.P.P.s up my sleeve, and, hopefully, they are not sticky because it is not at all pleasant to have sticky things up ones sleeves.

You know, I've just realised it, but 'review' also happens to be an anagram for 'we veri.' This means, of course, that you should say 'We veri muhc licked yer story!!!!1!' in your review, even if you did not lick my story at all, which I certainly hope you didn't, as you are probably reading this on a computer screen, and I know from experience that computer screens are not the least bit yummy. Well, anyway…

Off you get.


	3. The Half Blood Princess

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince  


_ Potter47_**_ Three  
The Half Blood Princess _**

As you undoubtedly know, by reading the first and second chapters of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, this tale revolves around purple polka-dotted tablecloths.

No? Well, I suppose you do know best. The story can, if you insist, revolve around Harry Potter and whoever turns out to be the Half Blood Prince.

Now, unless you are a very naughty person who does not read chapter titles, you already know the surprise twist that this chapter will contain. _The Half Blood Princess._ Hmmm. That sounds interesting. I wonder who she could be?

Ah, but that's where you may well be mistaken! You see, I am quite sure that you have assumed, by my stating 'you already know the surprise twist that this chapter will contain' that you do in fact know the surprise twist that this chapter will contain. You do not.

Unless, of course, you are a _very _naughty person and have already scrolled down to the bottom of this story and read the ending, therefore _actually_ knowing the surprise twist. As a lesson for all of you naughty, naughty people, we are going to have a group scroll, okay? On the count of three, you are going to grasp your mouse, click on the bar towards the right of your screen, and drag it all the way to the bottom. Then you are going to read the entire last screen's-height of this story, and come right back up. Okay?

One...two...two-and-a-half...two-and-four-sevenths...three!

Back? See? That's the lesson: for those of you that cheat, and look at the end of a story before the beginning, something wicked this way comes. Well, either that, or a whole lot of repetitive Shakespeare….

And so the tale begins….

As everyone in the world knows, after reading _Po Turforti-Seén,_ and _The Half Blood Pince_, there is absolutely no way to get the Half Blood Prince to help defeat Voldemort if a prophecy was not made, saying that he would be defeated on Halloween, during Harry's sixth year.

Which just goes to show that everyone in the world can be wrong.

For it was now the thirty-first of March, during Harry Potter's sixth year, and Voldemort was still alive and kicking. That is, if the Dark Lord did not prefer punching. No one ever asked, as he usually did not use either method…oh, I know. The Dark Lord was still alive and cursing.

"Damn! Damn! Damn! I stubbed my bloody toe! Damn!" he often said, among other expletives.

More relevantly, no prophecy had been made about the Half Blood Prince. A prophecy _would _be made, but it had not yet been made, so ha.

"_The Half Blood Prince will come, tomorrow at three-fifty-seven, like a great lion, swooshing down from the clouds in the sky. Of course, this lion would have to have wings, but the Half Blood Prince will not.... From the great dungeons of Hogwarts, the Prince will emerge, thus dreadfully contradicting the lion simile, and it will find itself on the field of battle, where a war will be waged between green and red, though the Half Blood Prince will be colour-blind, so that doesn't really matter.... the Prince will, figuratively, of course, bite off the great thumb that controls the Dark Lord's wand.... and the previously mentioned 'one with the power' will finally have a chance to strike,_" said Professor Trelawney eerily. Unfortunately, she had locked herself in her tower beforehand, and had been drinking quite a bit, so not only did no _other_ person hear her new prophecy, but she didn't either.

So the day passed as if it were just an ordinary day. Which it was not. Snape did not take a single point from Gryffindor. Hermione did not raise her hand once in Transfiguration. Neville did not blow one thing up. Filch didn't catch a single student out of bounds. Dumbledore said nothing delightfully eccentric. Luna didn't act distinctly dotty (okay, maybe a bit...).

And as such, the day was _not _ordinary. But no one, not even Hermione, who usually knew when things were not exactly normal, had the slightest inkling of what unusualness was really going on. And for all the unusualness of the thirty-first of March, no-one had a clue what was in store for tomorrow…

At breakfast, Harry Potter felt that all was not exactly normal. The reason for this was, of course, the owl that he received. The letter it brought gave him unpleasant news:

**_ All is not exactly normal_**

it said in a curly script that Harry recognised at once as Dumbledore's. _Hmmm,_ thought Harry_. That's odd. Why do I always recognise things 'at once?' Why not 'immediately?' Is there anything wrong with 'straight away' or 'right away?' How 'bout 'instantaneously' or 'without more ado'?_

Harry was shaken out of his thoughts by another owl, which delivered more unpleasant news:

**_ I'm going to kill you today.Regards,V._**

this one said, in a sharp handwriting that was not writing at all, but printing. Apparently, Voldemort did not like cursive.

But, it seemed, the sadness would never stop. A third owl arrived just as this previous one was departing.

**_ Millicent Bulstrode fancies you.She wants to marry you.Mrs. Millicent Potter...Mr. Harry Bulstrode..._**

this one said, to the utter horror of poor Harry. He would never forget the misery he felt that day. Never.

The day only got worse. For, you see, Voldemort (V. for short, because "Voldie" sounds more like someone who could get better with a bit of therapy and some love) was not lying when he said that he was going to kill Harry today. At least, he would _try_.

Everywhere the poor boy went, it seemed, objects would mysteriously fall _very_ near to him. Statues with very sharp edges; suits of armour with axes; ferocious white rabbits would chase him through the corridors, thus making him late for Potions; and Hermione made him carry a very large stack of books back from the library, hurting his arms. Well, the last one wasn't particularly Voldemort related, but it still hurt.

It did not help things to have a group of giggling Slytherin girls following him around everywhere. The scary part, however, was that he was not entirely sure that they all _were_ girls. _Ugh._

Dodging a flying pocket-knife, Harry made his way to the Gryffindor Table at Lunch. _Hey, wait a minute,_ he thought_, 'table' shouldn't be capitalised... and neither should 'lunch!' _This puzzled Harry all the way to his Seat, next to Ginny, and across from Ron and Hermione.

"Hey," he said by way of greeting.

"Hello," said Hermione, looking up briefly from her book, _Love Potions? Then This is the Book for You!_

"Hullo," said Ron. "What time is it?" he asked Hermione.

"Three-forty."

"Thanks."

"I was wondering something, Harry," said Ginny. "Why do I sit here? It seems that everyone always puts me right next to you. Shouldn't I sit with _my_ friends? Like I did at the beginning of your fifth year?"

"Oh no...," said Harry. "Not another illogical-assumption-that-has-already-been-proved-wrong-in-canon...."

__

Boom!

"LOOK OUT!" cried Ginny from her seat next to Harry, as if she didn't have to look out just as much as he.

A great, spiralling cannonball had been fired from somewhere in the direction of the Slytherin table. It must have been a defective cannon, though, if it was 'spiralling'.

Ginny jumped out of the way, heroically pulling Harry with her. The hard, bludger-like cannon ball just missed Harry's leg by inches... and unfortunately, hit his foot.

"OW!" Harry cried in pain. But wait; was he _crying?_ Or did he simply shout 'ow?' Aha! You cannot tell, can you, reader, for the '!' and use of 'Harry' before 'cried' disguises the truth. Is _"OW!" Harry cried in pain_ one sentence? Or two? Does it really matter? Not in the least. Just felt like pointing it out. Back to the tale:

"You saved my life, Ginny!" exclaimedHarry thankfully. This occasion made him realise something. A connection that he should have made years ago. Looking at Ginny's worried, bright brown eyes, he realised that he had forgotten to thank the Dursley's for his used envelope Christmas present, years ago... _They're probably heart broken...I better get to the Owlery right now, and thank them...._

"That was close!" said Ron. Hermione made a sound that seemed to indicate agreement, though she hadn't looked up from her book since Harry had first sat down.

"Yeah...," said Harry distractedly. "I need to go to the Owlery..." he said, before dashing away.

Arriving at the librairy, which actually only has _one_ 'i', though it is a common spelling mistake, Harry noticed the complete silence within the room, but for the ruffling of feathers. Of course, this was completely run of the mill, as there never really is much talking going on in the library, among humans at least. In fact, the only reason that Harry did notice the complete silence was to provide contrast for what happened next:

__

Crack!

Harry whirled round, sure that this was another attempt by the Dark Lord to claim his life. But when he did whirl round, he saw that it was only Mrs Norris.

__

Hmm... thought Harry for no particular reason, _I wonder what time it is? Let me check my watch...ah. Three-fifty-seven._

This previous thought by Harry, though he thought it had no particular reason, in fact had a very specific, particular, and similar synonyms reason. In fact, it even had a name.

It is what writers call a "plot device," you see, and it can be of great use.

__

Three-fifty-seven? That seems familiar for some reason... Of course, it was _not _familiar, as no-one was in the room when that particular time made its relevance known.

"Princess?" called Filch from outside the Owlery. "Where'd you wander off to?"

__

Pop!

"Ahh!" cried Filch. "Somebody Apparating! I hate it when people Apparate! I can't Apparate! I want my Princess! Where'd she go? Is the nasty Apparator going to hurt my precious Princess? _My precioussss...princessss...._"

But no, the Apparator. which _is_ spelt/spelled with an 'o', was not going to hurt Mrs Norris.

"I'm not going to hurt Mrs Norris," said the Apparator.

"_Meow!_" said Mrs Norris, which probably meant "I don't believe you, you big, mean, two-legged snake."

"Really, I'm not," said the big, mean, two-legged snake, who liked to be called "Lord Voldemort." "But that doesn't mean I won't hurt the Boy Who's Been Silent For This Entire Scene."

"Who, me?" said Harry politely. "Oh, you don't have to hurt me. I'm just sending a thank you letter to my generous relatives."

"_Meow!_" said Mrs Norris again, though this time it meant "But that doesn't mean _I_ won't hurt _you_!"

And so it was. As Voldemort raised his want to obliterate (which is very different from Obliviate) the Boy Who Was Sending A Thank You Letter To His Generous Relatives, Mrs Norris made her move. With a "_Hiss!_" which meant "That thumb looks delicious!" Mrs Norris attacked the yummy-looking thumb.

"AAAHHH!" aaahhhed Voldemort painfully. "That bloody cat bit off my bloody thumb! Look! It _is_ bloody!" As you can see, Voldemort was _still_ alive and cursing.

"_Meow!_" said Mrs Norris impatiently, which meant "Kill him you stupid boy! He can't use his wand!"

"Oh, right," said Harry, who could suddenly understand cat language, making him a Purrrrrseltongue.

"_Avada Catavra!_" he said, and Voldemort plopped to the ground, dead. In fact, he was the first Dark Lord in history ever to plop. But, on the bright side, he landed on his feet. Which is entirely illogical, but that doesn't really matter.

"_Meow!_" said Mrs Norris, which meant "And now I'll have a nice big snack, while I explain to you the odd confluence of events, which must not escape you."

"Okay," said Harry, sitting down cross-legged next to the cat, who merrily licked her lips, though cats do not have lips, so she really licked her face, which cats do very often.

"AAAHHH!" aaahhhed Filch excitedly. "My cat is devouring the Dark Lord! Come see!"

Mrs Norris and Harry ignored him however. They were deep in conversation.

"_Meow_," said Mrs Norris sensibly, which meant "You see, I am a descendant of Godric Gryffindor."

"Really? Everyone always thinks I am!" said Harry.

"_Meow_," said Mrs Norris, which meant "This, for some odd reason that has been developed by the fans, makes me royalty. I am a Half Blood Princess, because my father was a Maine Coon and my Mum was a...well, I don't know. She was more like me, however. Much more."

"Of course," said Harry.

"You're right!" exclaimed Dumbledore, arriving. "She _is_ devouring the Dark Lord! How delightful!"

"_Meow_," said Mrs Norris, ignoring him, which meant "And last night, Professor Trelawney made a prophecy about the Half Blood Prince's coming. I knew at once that she meant me."

"Hang on," said Harry. "But you said you were a—"

"_Meow?_" which meant, of course, "Princess?"

"Yes."

"_Meow,_" she explained, meaning "Yes, but Trelawney was drunk at the time. She got some of her facts wrong."

"Ah."

And so, not only was the Dark Lord defeated—on April Fools Day, no less—but Harry made a very good pal. He and Mrs Norris would have chats until he left school, in the middle of seventh year, for unknown reasons that may or may not have had to do with silencing a writer named Jo Rowling, who had leaked precious information to the Muggle world.

**_

Finis 

_**

Author's Note:

According to J. K. Rowling, the Half Blood Prince is _not_ Tom Riddle, Voldemort, _or _Harry.

This, of course, is of no relevance as there are a sufficient number of characters that do _not_ happen to be Tom Riddle, Voldemort of Harry. That means that there are many, many, more H.B.P.P.s to write, and many more times I will be dreadfully and completely wrong.

Of course, I may actually be right about one of these!

Or not.

Stick around. There are many more to come.

And remember that advice from _The Half Blood Pince_ about computer screens. I recently had a run-in with a particularly bad-tasting one in northern Canada. At least remember to pack salt!

Be off now, in search of more logical and possible fanfiction. There must be something out there that will not harm your brain as much as the though of who might be next in this series will.

Review. Please. 'Tis the only thing that keeps me going, while walking through the freezing cold of northern Canada, clinging for my computer for warmth. After all, if I freeze to death, the true identity of the Half Blood Prince may well be left unknown forever!

Or until the real book six comes out. Well, anyway...

Of you get.

Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double, toil and trouble, something wicked this way comes...Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, adder's fork and blindworm's sting, lizard's leg and owlet's wing. Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Something wicked this way comes...Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double, toil and trouble, something wicked this way comes...Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, adder's fork and blindworm's sting, lizard's leg and owlet's wing. Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Something wicked this way comes...Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double, toil and trouble, something wicked this way comes...Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, adder's fork and blindworm's sting, lizard's leg and owlet's wing. Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Something wicked this way comes...Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double, toil and trouble, something wicked this way comes...Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, adder's fork and blindworm's sting, lizard's leg and owlet's wing. Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Something wicked this way comes...Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double, toil and trouble, something wicked this way comes...Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, adder's fork and blindworm's sting, lizard's leg and owlet's wing. Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Something wicked this way comes...Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double, toil and trouble, something wicked this way comes...Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, adder's fork and blindworm's sting, lizard's leg and owlet's wing. Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Something wicked this way comes...Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double, toil and trouble, something wicked this way comes...Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, adder's fork and blindworm's sting, lizard's leg and owlet's wing. Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Something wicked this way comes...Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double, toil and trouble, something wicked this way comes...Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, adder's fork and blindworm's sting, lizard's leg and owlet's wing. Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Something wicked this way comes...Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double, toil and trouble, something wicked this way comes...Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, adder's fork and blindworm's sting, lizard's leg and owlet's wing. Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Something wicked this way comes...Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double, toil and trouble, something wicked this way comes...Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, adder's fork and blindworm's sting, lizard's leg and owlet's wing. Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Something wicked this way comes...Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double, toil and trouble, something wicked this way comes...Eye of newt and toe of frog, wool of bat and tongue of dog, adder's fork and blindworm's sting, lizard's leg and owlet's wing. Double, double, toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Double, double toil and trouble, fire burn and cauldron bubble. Something wicked this way comes...


	4. The Half Giant Blood Prince Thingy

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince  


_ Potter47_**_ Four  
The Half Giant Blood Prince Thingy _**

If you are confuzzled after reading the title of this fourth chapter of Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, it is for a very good reason. You see, shortly after my escapade in Greenland, I decided that every chapter of this so called tail (see chapter three) should have a title that somehow alluded to who the HBP would be in said chapter.

Sadly, the following chronicle is so unbelievable that I couldn't even properly title it. "Thingy," you see, is not a word, though it most definitely should be.

Nevertheless, I do hope you enjoy this completely and totally impossible tale, which is actually spelt like that, but was previously used as a joke, and immediately take a break from it if your head hurts too much. This has been a warning.

Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and Ginny Weasley—for flavour—made their way down to Hagrid's Hut. On second thought, the small, wooden shack that Hagrid lived at may better be termed a 'hut', instead of a 'Hut'. It is, after all, not a pizzeria.

"Hello, Hagrid," said Hermione when their friend opened the door to let them in.

Hagrid said nothing. He merely closed the door once the three of them entered.

"Hey!" exclaimed Ginny from outside the door. "You shut me out!"

Hagrid said nothing. He merely opened the door again and let the youngest Weasley into his...abode. Or perhaps even 'Abode,' as there is no copyright in the history of the copyrighting business that featured the word. The makers of the Acrobat software came close, but their writing was intelligible, and the 'd' and 'b' were accidentally switched.

"What's wrong, Hagrid?" said Harry, who certainly knew about being silent for great periods of time, but always got out of it before school started, because, you know, the _plot_ had to start. Grieving could peek into the story occasionally, but for the most part, Sirius' death was forgotten once the story line began. If there _was_ a story line, that is.

Hagrid said nothing. He merely reached onto the table and picked up a bit of parchment that had been sitting there for unknown reasons that may or may not have had to do with a purple polka-dotted table cloth, Greenland, or other completely random things that tend to creep into these tales.

He handed it to Ron, who had until now been lost in the lack of epic discussion that had been going on among the other inhabitants of Pizza—er, Hagrid's Hut.

Ron looked down on the intelligible scrawl, and then back at his friend. "Hagrid," he said, "this is an intelligible scrawl. How are we suppose to—well—tellige it?"

Hagrid said nothing. He merely shrugged.

"Oh, let me see it," said Hermione impatiently. Ron handed it to her, and she instantly knew that answer, without even having to consult a reference book.

"This isn't an intelligible scrawl. It's an _untidy_ scrawl. You just had it upside down."

"Oh."

"It says," said Hermione, and she read it aloud:

_ I'm not allowed to talk.This is a fan fiction.No fanfiction author can get my accent right....so I can't talk.Whoever's writing this isn't about to embarrass him- or herself by trying.So.I can't talk.Fancy a cuppa?_

"That's odd," said Ginny. "How can we know that the writing went to the next line after each sentence? She read it out loud."

"I dunno," said Harry. "But let's see if we can get an important plot point out of him anyway!"

"Hurrah!" said Ron, Ginny, and Hermione.

"Hagrid," said Harry, leaning in close to him. "What is going to be the main theme of this book—I mean—year?"

Hagrid snatched the parchment back from Hermione and scribbled on it.

It read:

_I can't tell you that.It's strictly between Grawp, Professor Dumbledore, and myself.I shouldn't have said that.Hang on.I didn't.I wrote it down.So why don't I cross it out?I dunno.Probably a plot point or something._

"Grawp, Professor Dumbledore and you?" said Ginny, giving no indication that she didn't know who the hell "Grawp" was.

Hagrid nodded.

"Well, we've got to find out what that is!" said Harry.

"Hurrah!" said Ron, Ginny, and Hermione.

For hours, the trio—er, quartet—sat, trying to get the secret out of their biggest friend. Actually, that's not true. They actually got it out of him within a couple minutes.

_ "Okay, fine,"_

the paper said.

_ "I give up.You all are pressuring me to much.And yes, Hermione, I know I missed an 'o' in 'too' up there.It was to preserve realism, as I'm not supposed to be the best speller.And I am the Half Blood Prince."_

"Gasp!" gasped Hermione. "I've read about the Half Blood Prince!"

"Of course you have," said Ron. "But what's the Half-Blood Prince?"

"Well, obviously," said Hermione, "it's a _who_, not a _what._ And it's _Half Blood Prince,_ not _Half-Blood Prince_. There's no hyphen. Didn't you see the announcement on JKR's website?"

The three other visitors stared at her, clearly thinking her mad—a word which here means "round the bend"—which here means "barmy" not turning around a corner—not "incensed"—which here means "really really mad," not "filled with a delightful and sometimes nauseating smell. In fact, while escaping the Greenlandish Castle, I nearly went mad while rounding a bend into a room that was incensed. But that has no relevance. To this tale, at least.

"Er, no, Hermione…" said Harry. "We haven't seen Jaykayer's website."

"What's a web sight?" asked Ron and Ginny simultaneously.

"That doesn't matter," said Hermione impatiently. "The Half Blood Prince is a legend, Hagrid! How do you know that it's you?"

Hagrid wrote for a long time, before handing the parchment back to Hermione. She read it aloud.

"_Dumbledore told me.It's got something to do with...what was it?Oh, right.Apparently, my Mum—Fridwulfa, you know—apparently she was some sort of royalty.That makes both me and Grawp princes.But, as I'm the oldest, I'm the Half Blood Prince.Even though we're both half bloods, and the only difference is the capitalization.Least that's how the fans explain it in the forums.Oh, and it may well be Half-Blood Prince, with the hyphen.JKR has spelt it both ways herself.Bit indecisive, in my opinion."_

"Ah," said Hermione. "It all makes perfect sense."

"That made no sense whatsoever!" said Ron, Ginny, and Harry. They paused for a moment, before grinning and shouting, "Hurrah!"

"It does _so_," said Hermione scathingly. "Just because you have the intelligence quotient of a teaspoon doesn't mean—"

"Again with the teaspoon!" exclaimed Ron. "What is your fascination with teaspoons? I just don't understand girls."

"Does anyone?" said Harry.

Hagrid shrugged, agreeing.

"Do I have to go back to the emotional range insult?" threatened Hermione threateningly. "That doesn't matter right now. We need to find out what this secret has to do with the main plot of this book—um—year."

"Well," said Ginny, "we can eliminate any and all scenarios that have anything to do with the Pillar of Storgé."

"Who would even _consider_ writing a book about that fictional thing?" asked Ron.

"Would anyone?" said Harry.

Hagrid shrugged, agreeing.

"Well, it's getting late," said Ginny. "We can sleep on this puzzling enigma, and maybe we'll think of something."

They gathered their things to leave, despite not having anything to gather, as they came to Hagrid's empty-handed, but just as they were about to leave, Hagrid held up another piece of parchment urgently.

"This is it," said Harry with bated breath. "It must be. This'll tell us what the secret has to do with the main plot of the...year."

Hermione quickly snatched the parchment from Hagrid and looked down at it.

"Or not," she said. "It says,

_ "A "puzzling enigma" is repetitive, Ginny.If something is puzzling, it is an enigma.If something is an enigma, it is puzzling.Russia, you know, is a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma.I made that up.Yup.I really did.See you!"_

"I could have sworn..." said Hermione. "I could have sworn Churchill said that. But I guess he stole it from Hagrid, despite the illogical dates. Well, dates don't matter in this story anyway. Remember the twelve week August we just had?"

And so they left.

/  
/o  
/ o  
/ o  
  
/  


You may have noticed the new, state-of-the-art, absolutely beautiful _Christmas Tree_ _divider!_ Not so beautiful? Yes, it _is_ supposed to look like a Christmas Tree. Well, it doesn't matter. This is to distract you from the completely unlikely and improbable events that occur in this next scene. Oh well. Apparently you've moved on.

When Harriet and Ronalda woke up the next morning, they realised just how indecisive JKR could be.

"Have you figured it out yet, Hermio?" Harriet asked as she and Ronalda made their way down to the common room in the morning. "The whole Half Blood Princess thing, that is?"

"Oh, pull yourselves together, you idiots!" Hermio_ne_ snapped at them. "You know perfectly well that the Half Blood Princess was last chapter. So take off those silly dresses and let's get to work!"

Reluctantly, Harry and Ron admitted that Hermione was right and the Half Blood Princess was indeed the previous chapter. But they had heard—from boggart!Snape himself, no less—that dresses could be fun.

Returning to the common room, the two boys sat down in the comfy chairs next to the fire, and waited for Hermione to either a.) tell them of her solution to all the year's troubles, or b.) run off to the library and never tell them a thing.

"Thank goodness," said Hermione. "If you two had taken another minute I would have run off to the library and never told you a thing!"

"What is there to tell?" asked Ginny, walking over to the group.

Harry looked up at her, and he could have sworn he saw her in a whole new light. However, he cannot have. The term "A Whole New Light" has been copyrighted by Ron/Hermione shippers and can never, ever be used to describe any other person and/or Hippogriff ever again.

Harry looked up at her and saw her in an unbroken innovative luminosity.

"Ginny," he said, awe-struck by her sudden glowing-ness (the aforementioned 'luminosity'). "I uh...um...uh—" He stopped suddenly. "I should say 'er' shouldn't I? And 'erm?'" Ginny nodded, and Ron and Hermione pleasantly ignored them, delightfully arguing about Snape again. "Okay. I er...um...er...do you want to go to the Yule Ball with me?" he asked.

"I'd love to, Harry," Ginny said with a smile. "In fact, I—"

"Hold it!" said Ron, cutting off his argument with Hermione over whether the Potions Master really did take two backwards steps on the way out of the classroom the previous Tuesday. "You can't take her to the Yule Ball!"

"Why not?" said Hermione. "After all, your approval of the two was clearly shown last year, on the train. Remember the 'odd look'?"

"But they _can't!_" said Ron, and it looked as though he was suppressing a grin. "Because it's a _Christmas_ Ball, not a Yule Ball! I'm _quite_ sure there's no Triwizard Tournament this year!"

Hermione, Harry, and Ginny groaned. Ron laughed at his own joke—

"Excuse me," said Professor Dumbledore sticking his head into the portrait hole, "I have just announced to the teachers in the staff room that there is going to be a Triwizard Tournament this year."

"What?" said Hermione. "But there can't be—"

"Alas," said Dumbledore, "Young Ronald has just made a joke about it. So it must come true. Oh, and Harry?"

"Yes, professor?"

"You left your right shoe in the kitchens. I am not going to ask how it got there. Dobby...found it." This was not entirely true; Dobby had actually stolen the shoe himself and stowed it away under a pile of mashed potatoes. Dumbledore handed the spuddy-shoe to Harry, who accepted it.

"Thank you sir," said Harry, nodding gratefully.

"The first task is about to begin," said Dumbledore gravely. His face looked happier, however, as he said that "It is going to be very, very bloody. It is lucky we have very brave champions this time." He grinned maniacally, and left the portrait hole. Harry could faintly hear him singing something about a "Brave Sir Robin," or something to that effect.

"Well, we'd better hurry and get to the first task," said Ron logically. "We don't want to miss any blood."

The three students—"Four!" protested Ginny—made their way down to the grounds, despite Dumbledore not saying where the task was to take place. Hermione looked very defeated—as if she had gotten only an "E" in Potions—because of the sheer illogicalness of the recent happenings.

"Welcome to the first task of the Triwizard Tournament!" Dumbledore's voice rang across the Quidditch stadium, where the event was taking place. "This year we are doing things a bit differently. Firstly, as I'm sure you'll notice, there are no delegates from Beauxbatons or Durmstrang here. This is because we've decided that instead of 'tri' meaning 'three', 'tri' is going to mean 'try', with a 'y'.

"This means, of course, that this is a tournament for those that _try_ to be wizards! Triwizard!"

A loud cheer roared through the crowd.

"In fact, there aren't even three champions this year, but two!"

"Roar! Cheer!" said the crowd.

And so, the first task of the Try-Wizard Tournament began.

"Our first champion," said Dumbledore, "is none other than our own Rubeus Hagrid!"

"Roar!" went the crowd.

"Roar!" went Hagrid, giving his best Rupert Boneham impression.

"So _that's_ what Hagrid was talking about!" said Hermione excitedly.

"Roar!" said Harry, Ron, and Ginny, ignoring Hermione in their impression of Hagrid and/or Rupert Boneham.

"Yes, yes, bravo Hagrid, bravo Hagrid!" said Dumbledore proudly. He chuckled. "You should try out for a reality show! But there are, as I mentioned,_ two_ champions tonight. The second one is none other than Rubeus Hagrid—'s half brother! Grawp!"

"Roar!" went the crowd, giving no indication that they didn't know who the hell "Grawp" was.

"Huh?" went Grawp, looking off at a tree in the distance longingly. He then turned to the crowd and saw a familiar face. "Hermy!"

"You know," said Ron, "I'm surprised no one has ever paired you up with Grawp before. After all, the last person to get your name wrong was—"

"Professor Binns?" interjected Hermione with a quirked eyebrow.

"Yes," said Ron, nodding. "And no one's paired you up with him, either."

"Witches and gentlewizards, I'd like to tell you all a bit about the first task. The two champions must try to levitate _that_ boulder. Whoever gets the boulder higher into the air, wins. Whoever has won the most at the end of the Tournament—after all three tasks—will win a year's subscription to Kwikspell. Also, for unknown reasons, our original third champion, Mr Filch, has refused to compete."

"Probably because he already has a subscription," said Harry.

The task began, and Hagrid came out to an early lead. He had taken out his pink umbrella and shouted "_Wingardium Leviosa!_"—the first words he had uttered since the beginning of the tale. The boulder rose nearly a foot off the ground.

Grawp, however, did not shout "_Wingardium Leviosa!_" or anything else. He simply marched over to the boulder and threw it up in the air. It went much higher than Hagrid's, and he won the task.

"You were great, Hagrid!" said Hermione after the task. However, the half giant simply sobbed. He sobbed, and then he sobbed some more.

"What's wrong, Hagrid?" asked Ginny.

"_I'm_ supposed to be Half Blood Prince!" he shouted in perfect grammar, so that the author does not have to humiliate himself. "But Grawp defeated me! And now I'm nothing but a—but a—nothing but a Half Giant Blood Prince _Thingy!_"

"Come now, Hagrid," said Hermione. "You know 'thingy' is not a word."

"And there's always the rest of the tasks, you know," said Harry comfortingly.

"Yeah," said Ron. "It's not as though Dumbledore's about to come and say they've decided to cancel the other tasks, and that Grawp is the winner of the whole tournament, after all."

All four of the other people stared at him. He swallowed hesitantly.

"What?"

"Excuse me," said Dumbledore. "I'd like to say that we've decided to cancel the other tasks, and that Grawp is the winner of the whole tournament. That is all."

"Sob!" sobbed Hagrid.

"You know, Ron, you are about as considerate as a teaspoon," said Hermione scathingly.

"Again with the teaspoon!"

**_ Finis_**

Author's Note:

I would love to post a long, humorous, and unbelievable author's note, but unfortunately cannot at the moment. You see, the internet connection in the place I am currently hiding from You-Know-Who (not Voldemort, of course) is less than...satisfactory.

Speaking of factories, I'm sure reading 'Charlie and the Chocolate Factory' might be a good preparation for the next H.B.P.P. That's all I can say.

Off you get.

To the library!


	5. The Half Blood Prince and the Chocolate ...

Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince  


_ Potter47_**_ Five  
The Half Blood Prince and the Chocolate Factory _**

"Hello, class," said Professor Lupin, on the first day of class. "As you can see, I have been reinstated as Defence Against the Dark Arts professor..."

"But _sir!_" exclaimed Hermione, hand shooting up into the air.

"Yes, Miss Granger?" Professor Lupin called on her politely.

"You resigned after our third year because you are a _werewolf!_" said Hermione, scandalised. "How has this suddenly been resolved?"

"Oh, it hasn't," said Professor Lupin lightly, shaking his head. "Either Professor Snape came up with a cure, or no one cares anymore. But for the purposes of this story, it really doesn't matter."

"Oh," said Hermione.

"Now," said Professor Lupin, turning back to the class. "Which of you can guess why I've decided to come back to teach?"

Several hands shot up into the air.

"Because you're the best Defence teacher we've had?" Ron offered.

"Hey!" said Harry, smacking Ron over the head, out-of-character-ally thinking himself a better Defence teacher.

"Sorry."

"Because you thought you would be a benefit to the teaching staff?" Hermione suggested.

"Because...I forgot. What was the question?" Neville said, scratching his head.

"Because you wanted to eat us!" called an unknown voice from the back of the room.

Professor Lupin shook his head, chuckling. "All good guesses, but none correct. The real reason I've returned is because I ran out of chocolate and had no way to pay for more."

"Ah," said the class understandingly, even though the previous statement is going to be dreadfully contradicted in the coming pages.

"For the first class of the year, I've decided to have a class discussion," Proffessor Lupin said, despite there only being one 'f' in 'professor.'

"About what?" asked Hermione.

"You'll see," Lupin said, smiling. "But first I'd like to tell you a Promise." And even though it would seem as though 'promise' should begin with a lowercase letter, it actually was not grammatically incorrect. He took a little piece of something out his pocket and unwrapped it. He popped the little piece of something (which was actually chocolate, though the students couldn't tell) into his mouth, and read from the inside of the shiny wrapper: "Inspire the life of a child. Isn't that profound?"

"Very much so," said the class. "That was very much profound. But was it really a promise?"

"Yes!" informed Professor Lupin, "And I've got another, too!"

"Yay!" said the class.

Lupin took another chocolate from his robes and ate it and read: "Enjoy good chocolates with good friends. Isn't that profound, too?"

"Er..." said the class. "Not exactly, and it's not a promise either."

"I just knew you'd think so too!" said Lupin, ignoring them, and eating another chocolate.

It went on in this manner for quite a while, and Profeesor Lupin (which is actually spelt with only one 'e' as well), stopped only he ran out of chocolates.

"Well, we'll have to get some more, won't we?" asked Lupin with a wolfish grin—um. Yes. Well. _Right_...

"Yeah," said the class without much enthusiasm.

"What was that?" said Lupin disbelievingly. "Do none of you want to go to a _chocolate factory?_" He could not believe such an unbelievable thing to believe, which makes very little sense at first yet is entirely logical.

"I would," said Chocolate Boy eagerly, or at least he would have if there was someone named 'Chocolate Boy' in Hogwarts.

"Well, that imaginary agreement's enough for me," said Lupin. "It's a field trip!"

——

And so the class all touched a Portkey—"That cannot possibly have been authorised!" said Hermione, scandalised—and were transported to—

"An unknown city in an unknown country—possibly the United States—in which a giant chocolate factory exists!"

"You know," said Harry, getting up from the ground of the unknown city in an unknown country—possibly the United States—in which a giant chocolate factory exists because whenever you take a Portkey you must fall on your bottom, "you're not very in character," he told Lupin.

"Yes, but I do like chocolate very, very much so does it matter?"

"I guess not."

"So who owns this chocolate factory anyway?" inquired Hermione suspiciously, though there really was no reason to be suspicious.

"It's my own private stash," informed Lupin sneakily.

"Couldn't we just go to Honeydukes?" asked Ron, who always was up to going to Honeydukes.

"Yes, but that would be far too simple. Remember that time we walked through the Forbidden Forest to find Hedwig only to have her fly into the next season, Harry?" Harry nodded. "Well, that was entirely unnecessary, as we simply could have gone to the Owlery if we wanted to see her for a moment, and then she still could have flown to the next season if she so wished. But it didn't happen like that. It's more fun to venture into the _Forbidden_ Forest. This is like that."

"Oh," said Ron understandingly.

Lupin muttered some words that Harry couldn't hear, because I didn't want to bother coming up with a spell that unlocked gates, to unlock the gates.

The gates unlocked.

"Follow me, class."

The class followed him across a long, angled red carpet towards the brown door. And then Lupin knocked on the door.

"Password?" said a voice from within the factory.

"Half Baked Pastille!" said Lupin.

"What?" asked Harry confusedly.

"Half Baked Pastille, Harry," repeated Lupin. "It's the password, because the initials are the same as—"

"Finally!" said the voice, opening the door. "I thought you'd never come back, it's been so long!" Yes, it is rather difficult for a voice to open a door, unless the door liked a particular genre of classical music. Or is classical music a genre itself? Oh, I've never liked words that look like they should rhyme with 'Henry' but really rhyme with...'honra,' which is not a word, and should stay that way.

"I'd never not come back, as long as there is chocolate on the earth!" said Lupin reassuringly to the voice, not even noticing his use of a double negative.

Lupin walked through the door, leaving it open for the class to enter. When they did, however, everyone instantly vanished except for Harry, Hermione, Lavender Brown, and Lupin. In the stead of the other students appeared two of Harry's least favourite people with 'D' names: Dudley Dursley and Draco Malfoy. Three out of four 'D' names isn't a very bad ratio, is it?

"WHAT AM I DOING HERE—" shouted Dudley, who was quickly silenced by seeing the lollypop that was now in Lupin's hand. "WANT!"

"If it isn't Potter, Granger and—Brown?" Malfoy looked confuzzled. "Since when do you hang out with _Brown?_ And what am I doing here?"

"How unfortunate..." said Lupin, taking a lick of his lolly, which for some reason does not seem to be a word. Can't imagine why. After all, it _should_ be. "It seems we only have five children left...would you lick—I mean, like—a golden ticket?" He pulled a bunch of what looked like candy wrappers from his purple pocket. Harry noticed that he was now wearing a purple jacket and an orange top hat, for some reason.

"Sure."

Lupin handed one to each of them. They read:

** I SURVIVED THE FRONT DOOR!YAY!**

"Cool," said Harry. He would have said 'rad' except he wasn't a twenty-four- nor seventeen-year-old singer/songwriter impersonating himself, and he wouldn't call a two-person band 'Harry and the Potters' because that is simply illogical, you see. Also 'rad' is not a real word and I've never used it so I'm not the person to ask whether it should be or not.

"Hats, coats, galoshes, over here," said Lupin, leading the five past a room with various places to hang clothing.

"We're not wearing _galoshes_," said Malfoy. "Why would we be?" Harry wondered if anyone ever said 'galosh' by itself; it just sounded _wrong_, you know?

"Follow me, children," said Lupin, ignoring Malfoy as he led the way towards a giant piece of parchment. "So much time and so little to see. Wait! Scratch that—reverse it.

"Sugarquill?" Lupin offered once they reached the parchment, holding one out for each of the children, who were actually teenagers but what adult ever differentiates, anyway?

"No, I hate that place," said Hermione scathingly. "What a silly pairing, don't you think—oh! You mean the candy..."

"Please sign this parchment. I will not explain why, because then Mister Malfoy would have his father sue me for every Knut I have, even from jail. You can ignore that sentence if you like."

"OK," said the children.

"Here, use some chocolate ink."

They all signed their names on the giant parchment that began with something saying that the management could not be held responsible for any accidents, incidents, loss of property or life, yadda yadda yadda.

"On we go!" said Lupin excitedly.

They made their way down a set of stairs up into what seemed to be a courtyard. Dudley nearly fell over from delight when he saw this new place.

Everything was made of....of...well, I would say 'sweets' but that wouldn't include chocolate in England, and I assure you there is plenty of chocolate in England.

Well, suffice to say everything was eatable. Edible. Hey, 'eatable' is actually a word! Who'd have thought?

__

But why does everybody say 'edible?' wondered Harry. _It is discrimination between words, I tell you! There should be a law against it!_

Everybody drifted towards the sweets and/or chocolates that they enjoyed most, and away from those that they disliked most. Harry found a waterfall of Orange Crush, but stayed as far away from the pumpkin pie as possible. Hermione drifted away from the Sugarquills in favour of the Cauldron Cakes. Malfoy chose the best looking green candy there was, leaving the ugly red stuff to rot. Lavender ate some Irish chocolate, if they make chocolate in Ireland. And Dudley practically attacked the—

"NO! NOT THE BUTTONS! NOT THE _GUMDROP_ BUTTONS!" exclaimed Lupin.

But it was too late. As soon as Dudley had taken a giant gumdrop button off of a giant gingerbread man, he disappeared instantly.

"Of all the sweets in here, he _has_ to pick the gumdrop buttons! They're my Portkeys to Greenland! Now how is he going to get back to eat some chocolate?" He snapped his fingers.

Suddenly, what seemed to be a House-Elf with orange face-paint and horns appeared next to Lupin. It looked at him questioningly. "Would you please try to retrieve the Dursley boy from Greenland as soon as possible? He's liable to catch his death if he doesn't get out of the cold climate soon." The creature nodded and disappeared with a _crack!_

"You've got _House-Elves_ working for you?" demanded Hermione, scandalised. "How dare you!"

"Oh, dear me, Hermione, they aren't House-Elves. They're Crumple-Horned Snorkacks. You see the little horns? How they're crumpled? Yes, I rescued the whole population from the Blibbering Humdingers in Sweden. They make excellent workers. And they're wonderful singers as well."

And so they were. A group of seven or eight Snorkacks began to sing from across the river of Orange Crush.

__

Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-dee-do!  
I've got a perfect puzzle for you!  
Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-da-dee!  
If you are wise you'll listen to me!  
__

What do you get when you guzzle down sweets?  
Eating as much as a Humdinger eats?  
What are you at getting terribly fat?  
What will you pull out of that hat?  
__

I don't like the look of it.

Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-dee-da!  
If you're not Dursley, you will go far!  
You will live in happiness too!  
Like the Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-dee-do!

Crumple-dee-do!

The Snorkacks disappeared into the air.

"Bravo!" said Lupin. "Well, I've got enough chocolate for a while. Now we just have to get out!"

"Can't we just go back the same way we came in?" suggested Hermione logically.

"Oh, no, we've got to go forward to go back," said Lupin, shaking his head. "Onto the S.S. Wolfstar!"

"WHAT?" demanded Hermione, once again scandalised. "THAT'S _SLASH!_"

"Would you prefer the Good Ship?" suggested Lupin, brandishing his lollypop threateningly.

Hermione gulped. "Er—no. Slash is fine with me."

The remaining four children boarded the Wolfstar to be confronted with not-very-pleasant fan arts having to do with a certain professor and his late 'friend' Snuffles. The boat began to go faster and faster and the faster it went the more graphic the fan art became. Harry had to shield his eyes eventually.

"Stop the boat!" Lupin exclaimed eventually, and the Sirius/Remus fan art abruptly stopped, along with the S.S. Wolfstar. Harry and the others got off as quickly as possible.

"Well that wasn't as enjoyable as it could have been," drawled Malfoy unnecessarily. "I mean, if you're going to 'ship slash, at least make it—"

"Yes?" snapped Harry harshly, glaring.

"Never mind."

"We'll have to go through storeroom number 12," said Lupin. "We'll be out of here in a Jif."

"Don't you mean 'jiffy?'" asked Hermione.

"I meant what I said."

And so he did; for the door on the opposite side of storeroom number 12 was indeed a jar of peanut butter and they did in fact have to go in it to get out.

Unfortunately, it seemed Lavender was allergic to peanut butter.

"I'm allergic to peanut butter!" Lavender exclaimed.

"How unfortunate," said Lupin.

Soon Lavender was turning—for no explainable reason—lavender. No one had ever before turned lavender from an allergic reaction to peanut butter because there is no lavender in peanut butter, but Lavender did it just the same. Her face turned lavender, her ears turned lavender, and the rest of her turned lavender.

"Lavender, you're turnng lavender, Lavender!" exclamed Hermone or at least she would have, had there was no such thng as the letter 'i'.

And Lavender started to become round, like a cylinder. Eventually, she had become a giant, lavender jar of peanut butter and had to be rolled out by a group of Snorkacks, who sang as they did so.

_Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-dee-do!  
I've got another puzzle for you!  
Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-da-dee!  
If you are wise you'll listen to me!  
_  
_Peanut butter's fine when you're not allergic  
Simply put, you don't want to get sick,  
Now you look rounder, taller and long,  
Much like a barrel from Donkey Kong!  
_ __

Now you'll roll right off the screen!

Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-dee-da!  
If you're not allergic, you will go far!  
You will live in happiness too!  
Like the Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-dee-do!  


"Shall we roll on?" asked Lupin when the Snorkacks finished taking Lavender Merlin-knows-where. "We do seem to be unlucky, don't we? Two unimportant characters gone, three _important_ characters left...

"Which way now?" Lupin wondered aloud, rubbing his chin. "Snozzberries or—"

"Snozzberries?" Hermione repeated. "Whoever heard of a snozzberry?"

"No, let's go the other along!" said Lupin, walking off down a side corridor.

"What about the snozzberries? I want one! Now!" exclaimed Hermione in a bit of out-of-character-ness.

They walked into a room from which two corridors diverged; right and left. Above the left door was an 'M' above the right a 'BK'.

"Left!" instructed Lupin, but Hermione hung back.

"Why?" she asked.

"Because I am your teacher and—"

"And you've gotten two kids lost already. I'll take my chances with 'BK,' thanks," she said.

"No. Don't," said Lupin without emotion, making no move to stop her.

Taking a step towards the right, a trapdoor opened beneath her and she fell through it, flailing.

Lupin shook his head wistfully. "Why does she always have to have it her way?"

More Snorkacks began singing. Harry was beginning to tap his foot without realising it.

_Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-dee-do!  
I've got another puzzle for you!  
Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-da-dee!  
If you are wise you'll listen to me!  
_  
_Never choose a Whopper over a Big Mac,  
What do they do, to make it taste like that?  
You shouldn't try to be a know-it-all,  
Or you just might have a great fall!  
_ __

Just like Humpty Dumpty did!

Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-dee-da!  
If you can give in, you will go far!  
You will live in happiness too!  
Like the Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-dee-do!  


"They're losing their touch, aren't they?" said Malfoy. "The lyrics go downhill with each one...and what's a Big Mac?"

Following a delightful, malnutrition-filled meal, the three departed from the McDonalds hallway in search of the exit.

"I know we're getting close," said Lupin reassuringly. "Let's just go through the Ferret Room, and—"

"Ferret Room?" echoed Malfoy. "That sounds suspicious."

"Oh, believe me, Mr Malfoy, it isn't suspicious. You are of it, but it isn't on its own."

The Ferret Room was exactly what it sounded like; a room full of ferrets. Sadly, as soon as the female ferrets saw Malfoy, they practically attacked him. One even got hold of his wand.

I assume you can imagine what happened next.

Somehow, the she-ferrets managed to turn Malfoy into one of their own, and he was instantly unrecognisable. Harry laughed harder than he had since long before Sirius had died, which had been just about forgotten completely in this story, save the brief mention while aboard the Wolfstar.

The Snorkacks appeared magically once again and began to search the ferrets for Malfoy. Harry hadn't the slightest clue how they were supposed to know which one he was. The Snorkacks sang while they searched.

_Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-dee-do!  
I've got another puzzle for you!  
Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-da-dee!  
If you are wise you'll listen to me!  
_  
_What do you get when you are really mean?  
A pain in the neck and an IQ of three!  
Why don't you care not about looks?  
Why can't you judge a cover by its book?_

It's what is inside that counts!

Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-dee-da!  
Having a heart will help you go far!  
You will live in happiness too!  
Like the Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-dee-do!  


"Man, those _are_ getting worse and worse," said Harry, agreeing with Malfoy for the first time in his life.

"Looks like it's just you and me, Harry," said Lupin cheerfully. "And as it is...there's something I have to tell you."

Lupin faced Harry, his hand in his jacket pocket. He pulled out a Promise and handed it to Harry.

"What's this?" Harry asked.

"Open it," said Lupin, nodding to the shiny red-wrapped chocolate.

Harry unwrapped it and popped the chocolate into his mouth. He flattened out the wrapper and read off the back:

** I AM THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE**

"What?" Harry said bewilderedly. "What's the Half-Blood Prince?"

"I am, Harry," said Lupin. "And you passed the test. When I die, _you'll_ become the Half-Blood Prince."

"But what is the Half-Blood Prince?" Harry repeated.

"The Half-Blood Prince runs this factory. The Half-Blood Prince runs Greenland. The Half-Blood Prince gets all the candy he wants!"

"Oh," said Harry. "I guess that's cool."

And so it was revealed that Remus Lupin was the Half Blood Prince, which according to Scholastic has a hyphen but according to JKR does not. Harry never did return to school. He was too busy preparing to run the chocolate factory. And as such, there was one incredibly angry Potions Master at Hogwarts.

"ONE THOUSAND POINTS FROM GRYFFINDOR!" shouted Professor Snape, because he could, though Harry couldn't hear him, because Harry was in an unknown city in an unknown country—possibly the United States—in which a giant chocolate factory exists.

**_ Finis_**

Author's Note:There will be no author's note on this chapter. 


	6. The Half Blood Prince Who Looked Rather ...

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince  


_ Potter47_**_ Six  
The Half Blood Prince Who Looked Rather Like an Old Lion _**

Harry Potter looked at the man in the compartment suspiciously. Harry had been boarding the Hogwarts Express, alone for no reason at all, and this man had followed him. Or had been following him. For somehow he had reached this compartment before Harry had.

"Who're you?" asked Harry suspiciously, taking a seat opposite the strange man. He looked rather like an old lion. There were streaks of grey in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows; he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace even though he walked with a slight limp. Harry had, of course, noticed the last little fact from _before_ the man had sat down.

The man surveyed Harry calmly. The keen yellowish eyes behind the pair of wire-rimmed spectacles looked at him tranquilly as he spoke but one word: "Goat."

"What?" Harry was positive that he had heard wrong. "I'm positive that I heard wrong."

The man shook his head, his mane of tawny hair bouncing slightly as he did so. "Goat,"

he said once again.

Harry had no idea what to think, and as such thought something random: _I wonder if it is a coincidence that 'H' and 'G' are next to each other in the alphabet. If not, why aren't, say, 'R' and 'L' next to each other? Or 'S' and 'G'?_

"Goat," said the man reasonably.

"Is 'goat' your name?" asked Harry.

The man shook his head. "Goat."

"Is it some sort of code?" Ah, it seemed these were the magic words, as now the man said something different.

"Toga."

"Toga?" Harry echoed, just as perplexed as ever.

"Hello," said Luna Lovegood, walking into the compartment and sitting down next to the Goat Man who looked rather like an old lion. Ron walked in behind her, taking a seat next to Harry.

__

"Who's he?" Ron asked, indicating the Goat Man. "He looks rather like an old lion."

"I haven't the faintest idea," said Harry, giving up trying to figure the Goat Man out. "All he's said is 'goat' and 'toga.'"

"Well _obviously,_" said Hermione, entering the compartment and sitting on the Goat Man's other side; he did not react, "that's because 'goat' and 'toga' are anagrams of each other."

"Oh, of _course,_" said Ron sarcastically. "Why didn't _I_ think of that?"

"That's not why," said Luna dreamily.

"What?" said Hermione, peering around the Goat Man at her. "Then why did he say it?"

"He was trying to save a seat for _him_." Luna pointed at the doorway, where now stood a very sad looking goat, wearing a toga, who had just been down to see the witch with the cart about something to eat.

"Goat!" said the Goat Man happily, waving. The smile faded off his face as he realised that there was no more room for his friend. "Er...goat?" he said questioningly.

"Oh, of course," said Luna understandingly. "We'll just find somewhere else to sit."

And so she led the trio out into the corridor, leaving the goat and Goat Man to themselves.

"You gave up our seats to a _goat?_" said Hermione incredulously. "A goat with a _toga?_ What did you do that for?"

"He asked politely."

"No he didn't!"

"Let's just find another compartment, all right?" Ron interjected. "Any of you hear about Seamus? He's coming in late this year..." said Ron changingthesubjectly, which is quite obviously not a word, though I think it has a bit of a ring to it, don't you?

——

The rest of the ride to Hogwarts passed uneventfully, just as it always does after the events are over. When they arrived at the station, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Luna, and Ginny, who had joined them when they changed compartments, had an uneventful ride up to the school in the thestral-pulled carriages. In fact, nothing eventful happened until after the sorting.

"Good morning Hogwarts," said Dumbledore delightfully-eccentrically, even though it was definitely no longer morning unless you lived on a very different part of the world which would make it very difficult for you to be in Hogwarts hearing Dumbledore say "Good morning Hogwarts" delightfully-eccentrically, eh?

"It's not morning, you crazy old coot!" exclaimed an unknown voice from one of the tables, which Dumbledore conveniently did not hear.

"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts!" said Dumbledore, holding his arms out in greeting so that all the students could tell how very much Dumbledore wanted to give them all a hug.

"This year, I would like to announce a new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher—oh, darn it all. I did this last year, didn't I?" Dumbledore asked, frowning. "And the year before that?"

The students nodded regretfully.

"And the year before that?"

The students nodded regretfully.

"And the year before that?"

The students nodded regretfully.

"And the year before that?"

The students nodded regretfully.

"And the year before that?"

The students nodded regretfully.

"And the year before that?"

The students nodde—

(Of course someone is about to interrupt because 'nodde' is not a word, is it?)

"No you didn't, you old coot!" interrupted the unknown voice, who liked to 'say' coot, even though the quotation marks should have been 'around' coot and not 'around' say, because that would 'imply' he didn't really like to say coot.

"I didn't?" Dumbledore asked confuzzledly which by now everyone should know is not a word, but should be.

"No, you old coot! The curse started with Quirrell, you old coot!" As you can see, the unknown voice did not only like to 'say' coot very much, but he liked to say 'coot' very much.

"Who are you, anyway?" squinted Dumbledore into the crowd, even though 'squinted' is not a way to speak and so Dumbledore could not have 'squinted' the words. "And why 'is' coot an anagram 'for' toco?"

"It is I!" said Unky-Voicy, standing up from the Gryffindor Table where he happened to be sitting next to Harry, who hadn't noticed and now jumped a foot in the air, conveniently landing on Ginny's lap. "Professor Saycoot!"

Professor Saycoot looked familiar to Harry for some strange reason. He looked rather like an old lion. There were streaks of grey in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows; he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace even though he walked with a slight limp.

How would I know? wondered Harry. _I've never seen him walk!_

"Professor Saycoot!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Welcome to Hogwarts! When did you get here?"

"In the past," said Professor Saycoot, marching towards the staff table. "Before this moment."

"But of course," said Dumbledore courteously.

"I OBJECT!" shouted a not-unknown-voice at the teachers' table. It was not-unknown because it was quite clear who had spoken. "_I _am the new Defence teacher, you impostor!"

Harry thought that the man who had jumped up at the teachers' table looked vaguely familiar. He looked rather like an old lion. There were streaks of grey in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows; he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace even though he walked with a slight limp.

"I am no impostor, you old coot!" said Professor Saycoot.

"Yes you are an impostor, impostor!"

"No, I'm not!"

"No, _I am!_" shouted a voice from the Slytherin table; it went unnoticed.

"Impostor!"

"Coot!"

"Impostor!"

"Coot!"

"Impostor—"

"Professor Sayimpostor!" said Dumbledore, jumping up to physically restrain the man at the teachers' table. "Professor Sayimpostor, are you saying that I've hired two Defence teachers by mistake?"

"No, I'm 'saying' _impostor!_" Sayimpostor said, snarling at Saycoot.

"Only an old coot could hire two Defence teachers by mistake," muttered Saycoot.

"Are you two related?" Dumbledore asked suddenly, rubbing his chin. "I sense a resemblance. In fact, do either of you know my brother Aberforth? You look just like him..."

"Coot!"

"Impostor!"

"Coot!"

"Impostor!"

"SILENCE!"

Everyone's gazes jumped from the argument by the teachers' table to the great Dubbledores—er..._double doors_, where a man was standing that Harry had never seen before, even though he looked uncannily familiar. He looked rather like an old lion. There were streaks of grey in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows; he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace even though he walked with a slight limp. In fact, he was walking with a slight limp right up towards Sayimpostor and Saycoot.

"Who the hell are you?" said Saycoot and Sayimpostor, before each adding a 'Coot!' and an "Impostor!" quietly.

"I'm yer friendly neighbourhood Spiderman o' course," said the Man sarcastically. Ron jumped up frenetically from his seat next to Harry and crawled quickly under the table, crying, "Spider—! Mummy!" softly and sucking his thumb frantically—("_Honestly_," said Hermione exasperatedly).

"_-ly_"_ word count in previous paragraph: eight._

"I'm Perfesser McClaggan o' course," said the Man—McClaggan, apparently—not-so-sarcastically.

"You can't be a professor, you old coot!" said Saycoot harshly.

"Yeah, you've got to be another impostor, impostor!" said Sayimpostor harsherly, which is not a word and I don't suppose anyone's ever used it before anyways, despite it meaning 'harsher than Saycoot because he's an impostor.'

"I'm not'n impostor anymore'n he's an ol' coot," said McClaggan, nodding towards Dumbledore.

"Than you are an impostor!" said Saycoot. "Most definitely!"

"Hey, you can't 'say' impostor!" said Sayimpostor. "That's _my_ word!"

"Will you all just _shut_ _up?_" demanded Professor Snape from the teachers' table, standing up suddenly, frustrated.

"Hey, he can't be a professor!" said Sayimpostor, pointing at Professor Snape. "Only I'm a professor!"

"I'm a professor too, you old coot," said Saycoot.

"There's more'n one perfesser in the worl'," said McClaggan.

"Why don't you just hurry up and say who the Half-Blood Prince is?" demanded Professor Snape from the teachers' table, impatient for the story to get along so he could return to his quarters. He had a very large collection in fact, of American quarters; one of the largest in all of England, even though they were in Scotland, because both are part of the UK, along with Northern Ireland, though none of which are nearly as unpleasant nor geographically intimidating as Greenland. "We all know it's got to be one of you three."

"The Half Blood Prince?" said Saycoot.

"The Half-Blood Prince?" said McClaggin.

"Who in the world is the Half Blood Prince?" said Sayimpostor, glaring at the so-called impostors.

"Oh, don't you two _read?_" said Snape exasperatedly.

"There's three o' us!" said McClaggan.

"The Half-Blood Prince is supposed to—" began Snape, only to be cut off by—

"Look!" said Luna Lovegood. "It's a singing troupe of Snorkacks! Where's my camera?"

__

Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-dee-do!  
I've got another puzzle for you!  
Snorkack, Ork! Ack! Crumple-da-dee!  
Who in the world could the Half Blood Prince be—

"Hold it! _Hold it!_" cried Remus Lupin, charging into the Great Hall unexpectedly. "Snorkacks! Out! You were last chapter!" The Snorkacks coloured deeply, though of course it was difficult to tell with all the orange, and hurried out of the Hall. "Hustle, hustle," said Lupin shooing the last one out. "Excuse us," he apologised to the crowd.

"As I was saying," continued Snape, glaring at the closing double doors, "the Half-Blood Prince is supposed to—"

"Look at the time!" interrupted Dumbledore. "Off to bed with the lot of you!"

——

Over the next weeks, there was more than a bit of confusion to do with the three Defence teachers, which is of course the understatement of the century. However, I will pass over these bits of confusion in silence because they would become very boring.

Harry was getting quite bored of the constant confusion of having the three Defence teachers. His head often felt very heavy because of it, or perhaps it was because of the anvil-shaped-bubble-gum-coloured hat he'd received from a mysterious sender known only as "V". He was quite sure it was Violet Beauregarde, but Hermione persisted that she was a fictional character. Luna had wondered what that had to do with anything.

"You never know," said Luna. "We all might really be fictional characters. Who knows, we could have been written by some Scottish lady and maybe we've even made her richer than the Queen."

"Yeah, _right..._" said Hermione sarcastically.

Days went by, and then more weeks, and still Dumbledore could not resolve the issue. Each teacher fought tooth-and-nail for the position, and none would give in. And no one heard any more of the Half Blood Prince that Snape had mentioned (nor the Half-Blood Prince), either.

Finally, the issue was brought up once again, by a mysterious arrival at Hogwarts.

"Who the hell are you, you old coot?" demanded Saycoot suspiciously, when the Great Hall double doors burst open at dinner, revealing the dark shape of a man.

"He's an impostor!" shouted Sayimpostor. "Surely he must be!"

"Perhaps we should jus' ask 'is name 'fore we call 'im mean ones," reasoned McClaggan reasonably, which is repetitive and unnecessary and an adverb.

The figure walked into the Great Hall slowly, dramatically, and so that his face remained in shadow for as long as possible.

"Who are you?" asked Dumbledore, standing up from his chair at the teachers' table. As the man continued walking, his appearance became clear. He looked rather like an old lion. There were streaks of grey in his mane of tawny hair and his bushy eyebrows; he had keen yellowish eyes behind a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles and a certain rangy, loping grace even though he walked with a slight limp. "What are you doing in Hogwarts?"

"It is I," said the man, who Harry thought looked rather familiar for some reason.

"Well tha's not very _helpful_, is it?" said McClaggan, who must have at least one apostropheed word in each of his sentences, to indicate his accent. "How shou' we know who 'I' is?"

"You are Professor McClaggan," said the man. "And I am—"

"—an old coot!"

"—an impostor!"

"—a blue dolphin!"

"—the Half Blood formerly known as Prince," completed the Half-Blood formerly known as Prince.

"Gasp!" gasped Hermione.

"What?" said everyone else, turning to Hermione so that she got the attention Steve Kloves thought she deserved.

"He must be the Half Blood Prince that Professor Snape was talking about!" she shouted, pointing at the Half-Blood formerly known as Prince.

"What?" said the Half Blood formerly known as Prince. "Who the hell is the Half-Blood Prince?"

"_You_ are, obviously!" said Hermione. "It all fits!"

"_What_ all fits?" said the Half Blood formerly known as Prince. "I'm not a Half-Blood Prince! Didn't you hear me say that I'm the Half Blood _formerly known as_ Prince? How could I be the Half-Blood Prince then, eh?"

"Er..." said Hermione in a very un-Hermione-like way. "I hadn't thought of that..."

"The Half Blood Prince?" said a voice from the Gryffindor Table confuzzledly. Everyone in the Hall looked at the voice, even though it is rather difficult to look at a voice, so they actually looked at the body of the person who had spoken. It was Seamus Finnigan. Harry thought he looked similar, which is reasonable, as he had shared the same dormitory as Harry for quite a long time. He didn't really look like an aging feline of any sort, in Harry's opinion. There weren't any streaks of grey in his sandy hair—possibly because he was only sixteen and hadn't had any traumatic life-experiences—and his bushy eyebrows weren't bushy in the least. He had angry, bluish eyes, not obscured by a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles, and he walked perfectly normally, or at least he would have if he had been walking.

"Yes, the Half-Blood Prince," said Dumbledore, nodding. "Do you know anything about him?"

"Of course I do, you idiots!" Seamus shouted, standing up. "_I'm _the Half Blood Prince. Why didn't I know you were trying to figure out who it was? I'd have told you right off, you stupid people!"

All the faces in the hall looked at each other silently, judging this announcement mentally. Saycoot looked at Sayimpostor who looked at McClaggan who looked at the Half-Blood formerly known as Prince, who looked at Harry Potter simply because he's the main character.

"Oh."

**_ Finis_**

News from the Half Blood Prince News Network magiticker:

****

HBPNN JKR allegedly told a fan at the Edinburgh Book Festival that the Half-Blood Prince is not, as many have believed, Rubeus Hagrid. This news is unconfirmed. **HBPNN **Bloomsbury has recently confirmed that the title "Half-Blood Prince" will indeed include a hyphen in the English editions. **HBPNN** Potter47 adds hyphen to the title "Half-Blood Prince" on Sink Into Your Eyes, causing uproar on FictionAlley. **HBPNN **The Half-Blood formerly known as Prince is known as Prince once again. **HBPNN **Lemony Snicket's THE GRIM GROTTO has been released, leading to rumours of Count Olaf being the Half-Blood Prince. **HBPNN **Former HBPPN executive Po Turforti-Seén found guilty of embezzlement and fraud **HBPNN **"Confuzzled" is introduced to Obscurus Books', "The Wizard's Dictionary." **HBPNN **Potter47 sighted at King Richard's Fair in Massachusetts, brandishing a long wooden sword; it is unknown at this time whether he was researching a future HBPP or simply thumping his little brother over the head **HBPNN **JKR allegedly told a fan at the Edinburgh Book Festival that the Half-Blood Prince is not, as many have believed, Rubeus Hagrid. This news in unconfirmed. **HBPNN**


	7. How the Half Blood Prince Stole Fan Fic!

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince  
_Potter47  
_  
**_Seven  
How the Half-Blood Prince Stole Fan Fic!  
_**

  
**Every** student  
In Hogwarts  
Liked fan fic a lot . . . 

But You-Know-_Who_,  
Who lived in the forest of Hogwarts,  
Did NOT!  
You-Know-_Who_ hated fan fic! The whole fan fic treason!  
Ask why if you must. Everyone knows the reason.  
You-Know-_Who_ was upset, with a terrible umbrage:  
Mad because despite his non-pureblood lineage,  
(He couldn't believe he'd been outdone by Pince!)  
JKR said he was not the Half-Blood Prince.

Now,  
that you know the reason,  
You-Know-_Who_ was quite jealous,  
In the forest he stood, hating all Hogwarts's fellas.  
Staring up from the forest with a sour, evil sneer,  
At the windows of Hogwarts and their half-bloody cheer.  
For every male half-blood in Hogwarts, knew he,  
Was hoping to be the next HBPP.

"And they're even reviewing!" he snarled with a sneer,  
"But the authors all like that! They're giving them cheer!"  
Then he growled, his half-bloody fingers were drumming,  
"I must find some way to stop fan fic from coming!"  
For,  
Tomorrow, he knew . . .

. . . All the kids and professors  
Would wake bright and early. Turn on their processors!  
And _then!_ Oh, the reading! Oh, the Read-! Read-! Read-! Reading!  
That's _one _thing he hated! The READ-! READ-! READ-! READING!

Then they would, young and old, begin to review.  
And review! _And review!  
_And re-VIEW!  
-VIEW!  
-VIEW!  
-VIEW!  
They'd review all the stories, the long and the boring,  
Something You-Know-_Who_ simply could not stand in the morning!

And THEN  
They'd do something  
He liked least of all!  
Everyone up in Hogwarts, the tall and the small,  
Would sit close together, lighting spells lighting.  
They'd sit shoulder-to-shoulder. And they all would start writing!

They'd write! _And they'd write!  
_AND they'd WRITE! WRITE! WRITE! WRITE!  
And the more You-Know-_Who_ thought of this Hogwarty-writing,  
The more that he thought, "I must stop this entire thing!"  
For seven whole years I've put up with it now!"  
"I MUST stop this fan fic from coming!  
. . . But _HOW?_"

Then he got an idea!  
_An awful idea!  
_YOU-KNOW-_WHO  
_GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

"I know _just_ what to do!" Voldie laughed in his throat.  
And he made a quick Half-Blood Prince hat and a coat.  
And he smirked and he said, "With this stuff no one'll see,  
that I'm Voldemort; they'll think I'm an HBPP!

"All I need is an author . . ."  
You-Know-_Who_ looked around.  
And never could you ever guess who he found.  
He looked right at the sky and pulled me through my screen,  
and he said, "Potter47, you're just what I mean."  
"Please no, not me," I beggingly said,  
(though "beggingly" is no word, and befuddles the head)  
"Shut up, you dumb author, or you won't get no bread."

THEN  
He loaded some bags  
And an old empty sack  
Shoved them into my hands,  
With his wand to my back.

Then You-Know-_Who_ said, "Hurry up!  
To Hogwarts we shall go,  
Toward the witches and wizards  
You pretend that you know."

And so we did go, and I he did sure scare,  
You-Know-_Who _marched me down to Hogwarts without care  
When we came to the Great Hall, he stopped with a swear.  
"This is stop number one," the old Voldemort hissed  
And he led me inside, empty bags in my fist.

Then we walked down the hall, after a stop at the loo,  
And just behind me was wicked You-Know-_Who_.  
I looked at him now, "Now what do we do?"  
And he said, "You're the author, I thought that you knew.  
All this reading and fan fic simply must go.  
It's too good for the eyes and the brain it may grow."

Then he pointed round me, with the smile of a looter,  
"Go round the room and bring me every computer!"  
Monitors! Laptops! Floppy disks! Sites!  
Keyboards! Desktops! Printers! And bytes!  
And we stuffed them in bags that I lugged down the floor,  
And Voldemort led us through the double doors!

Then he slunk to the kitchens. He took the Elfy-Sues!  
He took the Elf fluff fics! He took the angsty Elf blues!  
He cleaned out those kitchens as quick as a flash.  
Why, he didn't need me to help with the Elf-slash!

Then he stuffed all the fics upon me with glee,  
"And NOW!" You-Know-_Who_ said, said that he'd stuff up me!

And You-Know-_Who_ grabbed me and started to shove,  
When he heard a small sound like the coo of a dove.  
He turned round fast, and he saw two pairs of shoes!  
An invisibility cloak covered the bodies, I knew.

You-Know-_Who_ had been caught by this figurative clogging,  
Who'd got out of bed for a bit of good snogging.  
They threw off the cloak — it was Lovegood and Weasley!  
"What are you doing here?" Luna added, "Voldie?"

But, you know, that old Dark Lord was smart and was slick,  
He thought up a lie, and he thought it up quick!  
"Why, Miss Lovegood my dear," the fake Half-Blood Prince lied,  
I'm really an author who's come here to hide!"  
And he pointed to me with a wobbly motion,  
"He's the real Voldemort, it's Polyjuice Potion!"

And his fib fooled the children. Then to them he did wave.  
"I'll do my best — yourselves you must save!"  
And when Weasley and Lovegood had to bed gone back,  
HE took hold of me and stuffed me in the sack!

Then with one final look,  
(though this I could not see)  
He departed the kitchen himself, yes did he.  
(He barely remembered to even take me.)

**Then  
**He did the same thing  
To all the Hogwarts Houses.

Leaving no wires  
To be nibbled  
By Hogwarts's mouses!

It was quarter past dawn . . .  
Gryffindors still a-bed,  
Slytherins still a-snooze  
When he packed up the stuff  
Packed it up with their fluff! The romances! The comedies!  
The angsts! And the generals! The parodies! The tragedies!

From the castle we went! To the forest forbidden!  
He took all the bags and made sure they were hidden!  
"Pooh-Pooh to the readers!" he was evilly humming.  
"They're finding out now that no fan fics are coming!"  
"They're just waking up! I know _just _what they'll do!"  
"Their mouths will hang open a minute or two  
Then everyone in Hogwarts will all cry BOO-HOO!"

"That's a noise," grinned the Dark Lord,  
"That I simply MUST hear!  
So he ran back to the castle, his hand at his ear.  
And he _did_ hear a sound coming out of the door.  
It started in low. Then it started to grow . . .

But the sound wasn't _sad!_  
Why, this sound sounded _merry!_  
It _couldn't_ be so!  
But it WAS merry! VERY!

He stared into Hogwarts!  
Voldemort popped his eyes!  
Then he shook!  
What he saw was a shocking surprise!

Everybody in Hogwarts, the tall and the small,  
Was reading! Without any computers at all!

He HADN'T stopped fan fic from coming!  
IT CAME!  
Somehow or other, it came just the same!

And the Dark Lord, with his head through the great double doors  
Stood puzzling and puzzling, "How _come_, Dumbledore?"  
"They're reading each other's! How can it be so?"  
"They're reading fan fictions that they themselves wrote!  
And he puzzled three hours, till his puzzler was sore.  
_Then_ Voldemort thought of something he hadn't before!  
"Maybe stories," he thought, "don't need disks and cords."  
"Maybe stories . . . perhaps . . . mean a little bit more!"

And what happened _then _. . . ?  
Well . . . in _Greenland_, you see  
They say Voldie himself  
Wrote an HBPP!  
And the minute his heart didn't feel quite so jealous,  
He forgave all the Half Blood Princes, all the fellas.  
And he brought back the fics! And the internet glory!  
And he . . .

. . . HE HIMSELF . . . !  
_Shared his very own story!  
_

**_Finis_**

**_  
_**

Review. Please. In fact, if the preceding rhyming-story has not given you enough of a reason to review, perhaps the following Christmassy-song (sung to the tune of "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas") will: 

**Have Yourself A Harry Ginny Christmas  
**  
_Have yourself a Harry Ginny Christmas,  
Let your quill fluff write  
From now on,  
their troubles will be out of sight  
Have yourself a Harry Ginny Christmas,  
Make the H/Hers pay,  
From now on,  
our troubles will be miles away. _

_Here we are as in olden days,  
classic fan fic days of yore.  
Faithful characters, dear to us  
gather near to us once more._

_We believe that they will be together  
If the Fates allow  
Hang a romance fic upon the highest bough.  
And have yourself a Harry Ginny Christmas now._

Feel free to sing it whenever you like; however, if you do wish to at any time record and sell a CD containing this song, I would like a credit. Please. (That's 'Potter47' with Ts, by the way.) 

Also while hiding in the snowy plains of eastern Massachusetts, (or the hopefully-will-be-snowy plains of eastern Massachusetts, as the case may be) I have taken on an illustrator, named HJSnapePM. I do wonder if this is her birth name...perhaps she changed it at some point.

Anyway, she is (as of last report) hard at work on completing an illustrated version of the preceding HBPP. A link will be posted in a following HBPP when it is completed and on-line.

Once again, please review—you know, 'please review' is an anagram for 'we see veri pal' which of course means that you should say 'We see, veri pal of mine, that you have updated...it was sonderful!' in the review you are about to leave.

Off you get.


	8. The Half Blood Prince of Oz

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince  
_ Potter47_**_ Eight  
The Half-Blood Prince of Oz_**

Hermione was bored with her life at her parents' house. It was so very boring, not being able to speak of witchcraft or wizardry, and it simply bored her to death whenever her boring parents invited any of their boring dentist friends to dinner.

So, in order to avoid an overly long, overly boring opening, let us skip to the tornado:

Hermione was skipping along the sidewalk when she came upon a tornado. Normally, there were no tornadoes on this particular sidewalk, and that made this the most unboring (that's not a word, I know—but don't you think it should be?) thing that had happened all summer.

Of course, as you know, Hermione is a very smart girl, and as such did not act like this:

"Hello, tornado. How are you today? Oh, no, I've got all day to stand here and talk to you, Tornadie, don't worry."

Yes, Hermione was much smarter than that; instead, she showed it a fair pair of heels, and ran for it.

"Help! Tornado!"

(And no, before you ask: she was not calling for the tornado to help her.)

Our dear little Hermione ran all the way home, calling not so much 'Wa! Wa! Wa!" as "Help! Help! Help!"

She didn't find any of either; her great big dentists' mansion was empty when she returned to it: repetitively, no one was home. The tornado had grown in size as she had run, and she could see its approach through the wide window in the library.

"Such a horrible place for a wide window," muttered Hermione to herself. If it were to break when there happened to be a particularly strong wind, all of my precious books could be destroyed..."

Hermione wrote her troubles off as 'irrelevant' for the moment, and went down to the kitchen to have a mug of hot chocolate as she awaited almost certain peril.

"Oh, hello, Crookshanks," said Hermione as the squish-faced ball of fluff wandered into the kitchen, looking as though he had just woken up, disoriented and wondering if it were New Year's yet. "The author must have forgotten about you when he said there was no one home."

"Meow," said Crookshanks, and Hermione wished, not for the first time, that she was a Purrrrrseltongue, and could understand cat-speak.

(I happen to know that this particular 'Meow' meant, "There is a big swirly thing approaching out the window. It better not get my fur mussed up. I'm going back to sleep.")

__

Fwooooooo—fwoooooo, went the tea kettle, signalling that Hermione's hot chocolate water had boiled.

"Mmmm," said Hermione. "There's nothing more enjoyable than sipping hot chocolate water as a tornado approaches, about to tear us to smithereens."

"Meow," said Crookshanks, which meant, "Yes, there is."

Hermione placed her empty mug in the sink and filled it with water from the tap. She went back upstairs to the library, pulled up a nice chair in front of the wide window, and settled down to read a book and await her doom.

Crookshanks jumped upon Hermione's lap with a "Meow!" which meant, "Your lap looks comfy—but I better not get my fur mussed up."

Hermione put down her book for a moment and petted Crookshanks idly. She knew that her current situation was very exciting—just look at that tornado approaching outside the window!—but she missed Hogwarts so dreadfully so. In fact, she missed Hogwarts so very much that she decided to sing about it:

_Somewhere past that tornado  
Way up high  
There's a place I have lived in  
A place where I am alive.Somewhere past that tornado  
Slytherin's green  
And some cloaks that you use to cloak  
Mean you can't be seen.Maybe I'll ride a flying car  
And land down where the clouds are far behind me...  
Where Dumbledore gives lemon drops  
Where turrets replace chimney tops...  
That's where you'll find me...Somewhere past that tornado  
Bluebirds fly  
Birds fly, into the Willow...  
Why then, oh why can't I...?_ _If happy little bluebirds fly,  
into the Willow...  
Why, oh, why can't I...?_

Hermione furrowed her brow as she finished her song, and felt rather faint. The last thing she remembered thinking before she passed out was that she most certainly _didn't _want to fly into the Whomping Willow, and she wondered why she had sung about doing so.

It was an odd thing to sing about, if she did say so herself.

Nighty-night.

——

When Hermione came to, everything seemed to be so much more colourful than before she had fainted...it was as if they had gone back to Chris Columbus as director, and Hermione knew that that spelt trouble.

Crookshanks was now seated on her chest, with his face curled up in her neck. Hermione noted that she was on the floor, and Crookshanks' position made it rather...difficult, to stand.

Eventually, she managed it, however, and she felt that the scrapes on her chest would fade eventually. (As would the pain from Crookshanks's claws.)

Hermione, now standing, decided to go out the front door of her house—just, you know, to see what had happened after the tornado had hit. When she stepped outside into a beautifully Technicolor world, she knew one thing for certain:

"We're not in Kansas any more," she told Crookshanks. Of course, she hadn't been in Kansas to begin with, because if she had been then she probably would have went the wrong way home, because she didn't live in Kansas. She thought, however, that Kansas would have been a much farther (and wetter) journey.

"Although I've heard the Atlantic can be beautiful in the summertime," she told Crookshanks, and he shook his furry little head, wondering when his human planned to get back in-character.

"Holy Snitch!" Hermione shouted—and Crookshanks felt that answered his question sufficiently. He pouted as much as a furry little squished-face kitty can pout; he liked it better when they got his human _right _in these silly stories. But oh well, as long as he didn't get his fur mussed up.

Where had we been just a moment ago? Oh, yes:

"Holy Snitch!" Hermione shouted, spotting a pair of very ugly fuzzy Snorkack slippers protruding from underneath her house. "I certainly hope that those don't belong to—"

And then she noticed that there were _legs _protruding from the very ugly fuzzy Snorkack slippers protruding from underneath her house.

"Oh my stars and garters—I've killed Luna!"

Now, as Crookshanks would have told his human if she would listen, shouting out that you've killed someone is _not _the best thing to do after fouling up the landing of a three-story house that has only appeared in this one story. No, the proper thing to do was to see if they had any cat nip on them and then slink away unnoticed.

Not that he knew from experience.

Suddenly a murmur went up through the land...it started low, then it started to grow:

"The Weird Witch of the East...dead? Could she be dead? Who killed her? That girl with the cat? Yes, she looks evil too. An aura around her...bookishness, I think it could be called...let's get her...and let's sing too."

And so they chased Hermione out of the land, singing a merry song as they did it; Hermione never got a good look at them, so she didn't even know what she was running from, but that didn't stop her from showing it a fair pair of heels, and running for it. Crookshanks jumped into her arms for a free ride.

Their song went like this:

_Ding! Dong! The witch is dead.  
Which old witch?  
The Weird Witch!  
Ding! Dong! The Weird Witch is dead...We sound cheerful but we're not!  
We're gonna  
rip out your heart!  
Ding! Dong! You killed our Weird Witch..."_

And so on, and so on. For some reason, Hermione didn't like the sound of these people. She ran as fast as she could, and she soon realised that she happened to be running along a Road of Yellow Brick, capitalised for no particular reason.

"_Follow the Yellow Brick Road,_" Hermione murmured to herself as she ran—she couldn't fathom why, as the Road she was on was _clearly _a Road of Yellow Brick, not a Yellow Brick Road...oh, well. As long as she didn't get Crookshanks's fur mussed up.

Soon the singing was out of earshot, and Hermione allowed herself to slow down.

Walking now, she soon came upon a man upon a wooden pole, and he looked oddly familiar.

"Professor Snape?" she questioned, and he looked up at her.

"No, I am the Tin Rickman," he corrected, and Hermione felt there was something inherently wrong about a tin-anything being up on a pole like some sort of Scarecrow... but she ignored this instinct.

"But you look like Professor Snape," said Hermione.

"I am also Professor Snape," said the Tin Rickman. "But I have been sentenced to being called the Tin Rickman for the rest of my days."

"Why?" said Hermione. Crookshanks thought that his human was decidedly more in-character when around Snape than at other times. "And why are you on a pole?"

"Parents got fed up," said the Tin Rickman, "of all the potions accidents happening in my class. You see, of every ten stories written involving me, nine of them involve a potions accident. And out of every ten stories involving the two of us—" he indicated Hermione and himself, not Crookshanks and himself, for some reason, "—ten of them involve a potions accident."

"But why are you on a pole?"

"Well," said the Tin Rickman, "originally, parents wanted to hold a poll, to see if I should be fired for all the accidents involving my class. But then the person who was writing the poll misspelled 'poll' and here I am."

"Oh," said Hermione. "Do you want help to get down?"

"Yes, please," said the Tin Rickman. "I am feeling particularly out-of-character at the moment. I'll probably be better once I am closer to yourself—that always seems to happen, doesn't it?"

"Yes, I cannot understand it," said Hermione, looking at the Yellow ground.

In his last moments of out-of-character-ness, the Tin Rickman decided to sing a song:

_When a man's an empty cauldron  
He should always be called Ron,  
And that's irrelevant...  
The point's that I'm presumin'  
That I could be kind of human  
If I only had a heart...  
I'd be tender, I'd be gentle  
And awful sentimental  
Regarding love and art...  
I'd be friends with Gryffindors  
Place my hand between your fingers  
If I only had a heart...Picture me...a balcony  
Above a voice sings thus...  
"Wherefore art thou...Severus?"  
I hear a beat  
How sweet._

Just to register emotion,  
Jealousy, devotion  
And really feel the part...  
I could stay young and chipper  
And I'd lock it with a zipper  
If I only had a heart.  


As Hermione got the Tin Rickman down, she shook her head in wonder: "Boy, you _were _out-of-character."

"Yes, and I regret that point very much, Miss Granger. I had nothing to do with the matter."

"You do have a heart, you know," said Hermione sort of shyly.

"Anatomically speaking, yes," said the Tin Rickman wryly. "But other than that, I'm afraid I'm out of luck."

Hermione didn't quite think this was true, but she kept it to herself.

"Do you know how to get back to Hogwarts?" the Tin Rickman asked. "I've been...hanging around here since the end of term. I certainly hope you know where this place is?"

"I'd wager Logica-Land, but that's another fic entirely," said Hermione.

"You know..." said the Tin Rickman, looking thoughtfully yet sarcastically and snarkily at the Road of Yellow Brick, "I've heard tell that this Road leads to a Wizard."

"The Wizard of Oz?" Hermione asked for no reason in particular.

"What is a wizard avoughs?" the Tin Rickman asked. "I meant the Wizard of Hog."

"Oh," said Hermione. "Well, that's a logical place to head to."

And so the two began walking, and they walked rather closer together than they might have preferred, in order to stay as in-character as possible. The words

_We're off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Hog_,  
_Because, because, because, because, be_cause...  
_because of the wonderful school he runs!  
_

came inexplicably to both of their minds, but thankfully no one sang them aloud.

"Meow," said Crookshanks, which thoroughly contradicts the previous statement,

because it meant:

_ We're off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Hog_,  
_Because, because, because, because, be_cause...  
_because of the wonderful school he runs!  
_

But neither the Tin Rickman nor Hermione spoke Purrrrseltongue, and so neither of them could be disheartened by the fact that one of their number _had _burst into song yet again.

The group continued on their journey to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Hog, until they came to a fork in the road. No, it wasn't a literal fork, you single-minded reader—they went left, and Hermione voiced something that had been bothering her for a while now. She hung back a moment, stopping while the others continued on.

"I think I killed Luna Lovegood."

"That's nice," said the Tin Rickman. Then, in a moment, he straightened his head up, turned round, and stomped back to where she was standing, and hissed, "That is most certainly _not nice,_ now stick close, you fool!"

Hermione kept up with them now.

"How on Earth do you _think _you killed Miss Lovegood?" the Tin Rickman asked. "What, did you drop a large inanimate object on someone and the only identifiable features left visible clearly indicated _her?_"

"Yes."

"That is only circumstantial evidence, Miss Granger. Never assume."

"Yes sir," she said. Silence for a moment. "Then who could I have killed?"

"Perhaps you killed no one at all. Have you ever thought of the possibility that the body was perhaps a manikin for the store at which the identifiable features of the girl are sold?"

"No, I hadn't thought of that."

"I do not blame you. The chances of that being true are less likely than that of winning the lottery."

"But is it more likely than being struck by lightning in a submarine?"

"What is a submarine?"

"Never mind."

Silence again, and the three kept walking. Soon they came to someone lying in the Road—

Scratch that; replace it with:

Soon they came to a lion in the Road. It too looked somewhat familiar to Hermione, and she called the first name that came to mind, which happened to be the correct one:

"Neville?" she said. "Why are you in the middle of the Road? And why are you a lion?"

The three adventurers walked round the other side of Neville, and saw that he was crying.

"Oh, pull yourself together, Longbottom," said the Tin Rickman. "You haven't even melted a cauldron and you're crying."

"I have every reason to cry! I'm the Cowardly Gryffindor. I don't have one bit of courage and I'd say 'I ain't got no courage' if I didn't have any grammar either, but I do, so I said 'I don't have one bit of courage.'"

The Tin Rickman blinked. Hermione blinked. Crookshanks blinked, only he used more eyelids.

"It's all right, Neville," Hermione said. "We're going to see the Wizard of Hog, and I'm sure he can give you plenty of courage."

"Hog?" said the Cowardly Gryffindor hopefully. "Lions eat hogs, don't they?"

The Tin Rickman blinked again. Hermione blinked again. Crookshanks blinked again, and he still used more eyelids—he wasn't even showing off; he couldn't _not _use more eyelids. It was just his nature, and that probably has some metaphorical quality to it, but I don't care.

"I suppose they do, Neville," said Hermione. "But the Wizard of Hog is a..._Wizard _of Hog."

"That would be considered cannibalism, Longbottom," said the Tin Rickman. "No matter your current species."

The Cowardly Gryffindor sniffled, and got up from the Road. "All right, I suppose I'll go anyway."

"We'd better be off," muttered the Tin Rickman, and so they went.

The Cowardly Gryffindor began to sing, now, making the Tin Rickman wish that Tin Rickmans ate lions, or at least hunted them.

Oh, no, the Cowardly Gryffindor didn't sing about how he didn't have any nerve—he just led a rousing chorus of that annoying "Wizard of Hog" number. Crookshanks sang backup.

Soon, the group came upon what appeared to be an Emerald City, but was really just Hogwarts Castle playing dress-up.

Soon they had reached the gate to this 'City' and were met by a familiar old man who looked very much like Dumbledore, standing just outside the gate, looking as if he were guarding it.

"Professor Dumbledore?" said Hermione.

"Oh, no," said the familiar old man who looked very much like Dumbledore. "I'm just the Gatekeeper. And who is this 'Dumbledore?' I assume you are here to see the Wizard?"

"Yes," said the Tin Rickman. "Now if you would be so kind to _open _the gate..."

"Oh, I can't," said the Gatekeeper. "Not till somebody tells me the password."

"How would we know the password?" said the Tin Rickman.

"I'm simply terrible with passwords," said the Cowardly Gryffindor, tugging on his tail worriedly.

"The chances that we could guess the password are probably less than getting struck by lightning in a submarine."

"What is a submarine?" said the Gatekeeper.

"It is an underwater boat thingy that comes in a variety of flavours—I mean, colours—same difference—both have lost a 'u' at the hand of Americans—the most well-known colour is Yellow, which is capitalised because it is part of Yellow Submarine which is a song that I really don't care to sing right now because it is repetitive and extraneous and here goes it goes because you can't understand me anyway: "_We all live in a Yellow Submarine, Yellow Submarine, Yellow Submarine / We all live in a Yellow Submarine, Yellow Submarine, Yellow Submarine,"_ said Crookshanks, but all that came out was, "Meow."

The gate creaked slowly open.

"Well what do you know!" said the Gatekeeper. "The password must've been 'meow!'"

Hermione blinked. The Tin Rickman blinked. The Cowardly Gryffindor blinked, and it took him just as many eyelids as Crookshanks because he was a lion at the moment and lions are cats.

"You mean you didn't _know_ the password?"

"Oh, no!" said the Gatekeeper. "Why do you think I'm standing out here on this side of the gate?"

"Let's find this Wizard, shall we?" said the Tin Rickman.

The five of them walked through the gate, and the Gatekeeper closed it behind them. He stood now with a happy smile on his face, awaiting more visitors.

Soon after going through the gate, the four companions met up with another familiar old man who looked very much like Dumbledore.

"Professor Dumbledore?" said Hermione. This man sat in a horseless carriage, looking straight ahead.

"Welcome," said the other old man who looked very much like Dumbledore. "I am the driver of the Thestral of a Different Colour."

They all blinked once again and it is wholly unnecessary to tell of each individually.

"How can it be the Thestral of a Different Colour? Thestrals are invisible."

"Maybe to you," said the man, "and maybe to me. But that's because we haven't ever seen death. I'm sure you know how it works—"

"There's no Thestral there," informed the Cowardly Gryffindor. "I can see Thestrals. There's nothing pulling that carriage."

"He's right," said the Tin Rickman.

"There isn't?" said the man. "Oh. Well, that would explain why he's never pulled me anywhere. I'd been wondering greatly about that."

"Let's head on," said the Tin Rickman, and so they did.

Eventually they came to the door of the castle...er, main building of the City. They knocked on the great double doors, and in a moment they were opened.

"Welcome!" said a great, loud voice as they entered. The Cowardly Gryffindor quivered and held onto his tail. "What has brought you here to speak with the great Half-Blood Prince of Hog?"

"Half-Blood Prince?" said Hermione inquisitively. "I thought it was the Wizard of Hog?"

"Copyright infringement," informed the Half-Blood Prince. "Apparently the term 'the Wizard of' is property of MGM for some reason or another. I'd been told that if I dropped the capital 'W" I'd be fine, but who wants to be the Izard of Hog, anyway? So I chose the Half-Blood Prince of Hog instead."

"Oh," said Hermione. "Well, we've come here for you to grant our wishes."

"I would like courage," said the Cowardly Gryffindor.

"And we want to go home," said Hermione, gesturing at herself and the Tin Rickman.

"Meow," said Crookshanks, which meant, "What about me?"

"Oh, of course," said the Half-Blood Prince. "I shall begin with the lion. Just let me get down..."

With the sound of a person dropping to the ground from something off the ground, the Half-Blood Prince appeared before them. He was an old man, and he looked very much like Dumbledore.

"Professor Dumbledore?" said Hermione, positive that she would be wrong again.

"Wrong again! I am the Half-Blood Prince of Hog! Didn't you realise that I am the same person that had been talking to you people?"

"I guess."

Hermione thought that whatever this man said, he was still Dumbledore.

"Penguins and cheese," said the man.

__

Yep, thought Hermione. _Still Dumbledore._

"Now, Mr Cowardly Gryffindor. All you need to have courage is to have a mean Slytherin following you round everywhere. This way, you'll learn to stand up for yourself." The Half-Blood Prince reached behind a curtain, and made a face as if he were grabbing for something. "Here," he said, pulling with all his force. "Have a Malfoy."

"Thank you, Mr Half-Blood Prince!"

"You are very welcome, my feline friend! Next!"

The Tin Rickman stepped forward, and after a complicated footwear ritual, he had been sent home.

Hermione stepped forward at last, and the Half-Blood Prince said to her with a smile:

"Ah, this one's easy! All you have to do, Miss Granger, is wake up. You're dreaming this whole thing. Wake-up!'

"Wake-up, Tangy. Wake up."

Hermione opened her eyes to find her parents leaning over her, looking worried. With them were Ron and Harry, and Hermione wondered what _they_ could be doing there.

"I just had the strangest dream," said Hermione, breathing in and out, in and out, just like she did all the time because otherwise she'd be dead. "And you were..." She pointed at her father limply, but then shook her head, "...not there. Nor were...you, nor you, nor...you. Goodness, my subconscious must not think very much of you people at all."

"She's delusional," said Hermione's mother, Jo Granger.

"Most definitely," said her father, Neil Granger.

"She's got to be, if she thinks I wasn't in her dream," said Ron.

"Yeah, she couldn't get knocked out and _not _dream of at least one of your arguments...they're so common that I'd guess the odds of it are less than getting struck by lightning while in a submarine," said Harry ("What is a submarine?" said Ron).

"Meow," said Crookshanks, which I happen to know meant, "That's what you think."

**_ Finis_**

Author's Note:

I have now decided to include a HBP-related song-parody in each HBPP's author's-note, from now until the end of this fic (which should come sometime in July...) Thus, I give you:

****

A Half-Blood Prince's Night

It's been a Half-Blood Prince's night,  
Hinkypunks lead me into bogs.  
It's been a Half-Blood Prince's night,  
And bowtruckles look like logs,

But when I get HBP, I'll find the things I can read, and I'll stay up all night  
You know I'll read all day, to get to know who's the HBP,  
And it's worth it just to hear JK: "The Half-Blood Prince is..." anything.

So why on earth should I sleep?  
Cause when I get HBP, I'm gonna read all day

When I read, everything seems to be right,  
When I read, gripping an HP book tight, tight yeah

It's been a Half-Blood Prince's night,  
Hinkypunks lead me into bogs.  
It's been a Half-Blood Prince's night,  
And bowtruckles look like logs,

But when I get HBP, I'll find the things I can read, and I'll stay up all night

So why on earth should I sleep?  
Cause when I get HBP, I'm gonna read all day

When I read, everything seems to be right,  
When I read, gripping an HP book tight, tight yeah

It's been a Half-Blood Prince's night,  
Hinkypunks lead me into bogs.  
It's been a Half-Blood Prince's night,  
And bowtruckles look like logs,

But when I get HBP, I'll find the things I can read, and I'll stay up all night  
You know I'll read all night  
You know I'll read all night

This is, for the two of you that don't know, a parody of the Beatles' "A Hard Day's Night." Shame on you.

See you next time. Er... actually, no. I can't see you, nor can you see me. We are quite a way's away from each other, and I will not disclose exactly where it is that you are a way's away from. Because then I would have to kill you. Or Obliviate you. That would probably be more reasonable.  



	9. Chapter Nine

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Fanfic  
_ Potter47  
_  
** NOTE:  
CHAPTER NINE WAS TOO DIFFICULT.  
PLEASE PROCEED TO CHAPTER TEN. **

(Or, you can read these lyrics kindly provided by the classic-wizard-rock phenomenon, _The Skeaters._)  
** She Loves You**

She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah  
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah  
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah

She saved you with her love,  
On that October day.  
It's you she's thinking of  
And she told me what to say.  
She says she loves you  
And you know that she's not gone...  
Yes, she loves you  
She's simply just beyond... 

She said, if you were killed  
That she would have lost her mind.  
But now your heart's unfilled,  
You are the hurting kind.  
She says she loves you  
And you know that she's not gone...  
Yes, she loves you  
She's simply just beyond... 

She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah  
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah  
And with a love like that  
You-Know-Who sure is mad.

And now it's up to you,  
No one said it was fair,  
You must fight You-Know-Who  
Make it up to her...  
Because she loves you  
And you know that she's not gone...  
Yes, she loves you  
She's simply just beyond...

She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah  
She loves you, yeah, yeah, yeah  
And with a love like that  
You-Know-Who sure is mad.

** Can't Buy Me Book Six (Can't Buy Me Love)  
**  
Can't buy me book six, book six,  
Can't buy me book six

I'd buy you Half-Blood Prince, my friend, if it makes you feel all right  
I'd buy you Half-Blood Prince, my friend, if it came out tonight  
Cause I don't care too much for money,  
Money can't buy me book six

I'll read you all HBPPs, if you say you'll read it too  
It may not be a lot to read, but what it is I'll read to you

I don't care too much for money,  
Money can't buy me book six  
Can't buy me book six  
Everybody tells me so  
Can't buy me book six  
No, no, no, no!

Say you don't need the Half-Blood Prince, and I'll be satisfied,  
That'll be one less HP thing, that I will have to buy,  
I don't care too much for money,  
Money can't buy me book six

Buy me book six,  
Everybody tells me so  
Can't buy me book six  
No, no, no, no!

Say you don't need the Half-Blood Prince, and I'll be satisfied,  
That'll be one less HP thing, that I will have to buy,  
I don't care too much for money,  
Money can't buy me book six

Buy me book six, book six,  
Can't buy me book six  
**  
A Half-Blood Prince's Night (A Hard Day's Night)  
**  
It's been a Half-Blood Prince's night,  
Hinkypunks lead me into bogs.  
It's been a Half-Blood Prince's night,  
And bowtruckles look like logs,

But when I get HBP, I'll find the things I can read, and I'll stay up all night  
You know I'll read all day, to get to know who's the HBP,  
And it's worth it just to hear JK: "The Half-Blood Prince is..." anything.

So why on earth should I sleep?  
Cause when I get HBP, I'm gonna read all day

When I read, everything seems to be right,  
When I read, gripping an HP book tight, tight yeah

It's been a Half-Blood Prince's night,  
Hinkypunks lead me into bogs.  
It's been a Half-Blood Prince's night,  
And bowtruckles look like logs,

But when I get HBP, I'll find the things I can read, and I'll stay up all night

So why on earth should I sleep?  
Cause when I get HBP, I'm gonna read all day

When I read, everything seems to be right,  
When I read, gripping an HP book tight, tight yeah

It's been a Half-Blood Prince's night,  
Hinkypunks lead me into bogs.  
It's been a Half-Blood Prince's night,  
And bowtruckles look like logs,

But when I get HBP, I'll find the things I can read, and I'll stay up all night  
You know I'll read all night  
You know I'll read all night  
**  
Eight Days a Week  
**  
Ooh, I need more time, yeah  
Guess you know it's true  
You don't need so much time,  
Well just lucky you.  
_ Ti–hi_me-turner, _Ti–hi_me-turner  
Ain't got nothing but work, yeah  
Eight days a week

I work everyday, yeah  
Always on my mind  
One thing I can say, yeah  
I just need more time  
_ Ti–hi_me-turner, _Ti–hi_me-turner  
Ain't got nothing but work, yeah  
Eight days a week

Eight days a week  
I work through...  
Eight days a week  
Is not enough for all my work

Ooh, I need more time, yeah  
Guess you know it's true  
You don't need so much time,  
Well just lucky you.  
_ Ti–hi_me-turner, _Ti–hi_me-turner  
Ain't got nothing but work, yeah  
Eight days a week

Eight days a week  
I work through...  
Eight days a week  
Is not enough for all my work

I work everyday, yeah  
Always on my mind  
One thing I can say, yeah  
I just need more time  
_ Ti–hi_me-turner, _Ti–hi_me-turner  
Ain't got nothing but work, yeah  
Eight days a week  
Eight days a week  
Eight days a week  
Eight days a week

** Dog Ripper (Day Tripper)**

Got a good reason for taking the easy way out  
Got a good reason for taking the easy way out now  
She has a dog Ripper, one sharp puppy, yeah  
It took me so long to climb down, and I climbed down

He's a good chaser, he chased me half the way there  
He's a good chaser, he chased me half the way there, now  
She has a dog Ripper, one sharp puppy, yeah  
It took me so long to climb down, and I climbed down

Tried to please her, I only blew up her hands  
Tried to please her, didn't just blow up her hands, now  
She has a dog Ripper, one sharp puppy, yeah  
It took me so long to climb down, and I climbed down

Dog Ripper  
Dog Ripper yeah  
Dog Ripper  
Dog Ripper yeah  
Dog Ripper

** Fanfiction Writer (Paperback Writer)  
**  
Fanfiction writer,  
Fanfiction writer, writer...

Dear online reader would you read my fic?  
It took me weeks to write, will you take a click?  
It's based on a series by a lady named Jo,  
And I need reviews, so I want to be a fanfiction writer,  
fanfiction writer!

It's a dirty story, of a Potions Master,  
his skin is pale, much like alabaster  
And he's also working for the Phoenix's Order,  
It's a steady job, but he wants to be a potions text writer,  
potions text writer!

It's a thousand pages, give or take a few,  
I'll be posting more, in a week or two,  
I can make it longer, if you like the style,  
I can change it round, and I want to be a fanfiction writer,  
Fanfiction writer!

If you really like it please leave reviews,  
I'd prefer one every chapter or two,  
If you don't enjoy it you can send me flames,  
But I need reviews, and I want to be a fanfiction writer,  
Fanfiction writer!

Fanfiction writer,  
Fanfiction writer, writer...

Fanfiction writer,  
Fanfiction writer...

Fanfiction writer,  
Fanfiction writer...

Fanfiction writer,  
Fanfiction writer...

Fanfiction writer,  
Fanfiction writer...

** Privet Drive (Penny Lane)  
**  
In Privet Drive there is a father showing photographs  
Of every word his son happens to know  
And all the people that come and go  
Stop and say hello

On the corner is a play-park with a swing set  
The little children bullied right behind its back  
And the bullies are never hit back  
It's always the same, never strange

Privet Drive is in my ears and in my eyes  
There beneath the blue suburban skies  
I sit, and meanwhile back

In Privet Drive there is a housewife with a howler  
And on her face, an expression quite green  
She likes to keep her coffee-maker clean  
It's a clean machine

Privet Drive is in my ears and in my eyes  
A score of owls go flying by  
In summer, meanwhile back

In the cupboard under the stairs, of number 4,  
A little boy is dreaming very far away  
And though he feels as if he's in a play  
He is anyway

In Privet Drive the father drills another customer  
We see the housewife sitting waiting to but in  
And then the little boy rushes in  
It's always the same, never strange

Privet Drive is in my ears and in my eyes  
There beneath the blue suburban skies  
I sit, and meanwhile back  
Privet Drive is in my ears and in my eyes  
There beneath the blue suburban skies  
Privet Drive

** Lady Minerva (Lady Madonna)  
**  
Lady Minerva, children at your feet  
Being head of Gryffindor's quite a feat.  
Who would teach the children if you were gone?  
Don't you think Hermione would kill Ron?

Friday night arrives—no eating good birds  
Sunday morning creeping like a nun  
Monday's child has forgotten the password  
See how they run

Lady Minerva, prankster at your door  
Wonders how you manage to live anymore  
Pa pa pa pa...  
See how they run

Lady Minerva lying on the bed  
Think about the catnip under the bedspread...

Tuesday afternoon is never-ending  
Wednesday morning papers didn't come  
Thursday night your quizzes needed grading...  
See how they run

Lady Minerva, children at your feet  
Being head of Gryffindor's quite a feat.

** Hey Jo (Hey Jude)**

Hey, Jo,  
Don't make it bad,  
Take a sad story...make it better.

Remember to let Ginny into his heart,  
Then he can start, to make it better.

Hey Jo,  
Don't be afraid,  
He was made to  
Go out and get her.

The minute, you let her under his skin,  
then he begins, to make it better.

And any time he feels the pain,  
Hey Jo, refrain, don't carry the world upon his shoulders.

For well you know that it's a fool,  
that writes to be cool.  
That makes the world, a little colder.

Na na na na na, na na na na...

Hey Jo,  
Don't let me down.  
He has found her,  
Now let him get her.

Remember to let Ginny into his heart,  
Then he can start, to make it better.

So let it out, and let it in,  
Hey Jo, begin,  
He's waiting for someone  
to confide in.

And don't you know that it's just you,  
Hey Jo, you do,  
the words that you need, are by your shoulder.

Na na na na na, na na na na...yeah,  
Hey Jo,  
Don't make it bad,  
Take a sad story...make it better.

Remember to let her under his skin,  
Then he begins, to make it better, better, better, better, better...oh, yeah.

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo

Na...na, na, nananana, nananana  
Hey Jo  
**  
HBP (Let it Be)  
**  
When we find ourselves in times of trouble,  
J.K. Rowling posts to we,  
Speaking words of wisdom, "HBP."

And by the Pillar of Storgé,  
She put it how it was supposed to be,  
Speaking words of wisdom, "HBP."

HBP, HBP, HBP, HBP,  
Whisper words of wisdom, "HBP."

And when the broken-hearted readers,  
Hear the "Pillar of Storgé,"  
There will be an answer,  
HBP.

For though they are misguided,  
There is still a chance that they will see,  
There will be an answer,  
"HBP."

HBP, HBP, HBP, HBP,  
Yeah there will be an answer, "HBP."

HBP, HBP, HBP, HBP,  
Whisper words of wisdom, "HBP."

HBP, HBP, HBP, HBP,  
Whisper words of wisdom, "HBP."

And when the bookstore's crowded,  
There is still a book, I wish to read,  
Wish until tomorrow,  
HBP

I wake up to the news of Mugglenet,  
J.K. Rowling posts to we,  
Speaking words of wisdom,  
"HBP."

HBP, HBP, HBP, HBP,  
There will be an answer, "HBP."

HBP, HBP, HBP, HBP,  
Whisper words of wisdom, "HBP."

For more information about the _Skeaters _and other wizarding bands be sure to check out Polyjuice Parodies at (without the spaces):  
__

polyjuice . topcities . com

Please note that this site is under construction, and (depending on the day of the week and whether or not you have a particularly full bladder) you may not even find the Skeaters at this site.  


Now, for the last time, please proceed to chapter ten.

DISCLAIMER: ALL SONGS PARODIED HERE WERE ORIGINALLY WRITTEN BY "THE BEATLES" A RATHER POPULAR MUGGLE BAND THAT IS THE VERY FAVOURITE OF SEVERAL INFLUENTIAL PEOPLE, SUCH AS LONDON LOVEGOOD (EDITOR-IN-CHIEF, _THE QUIBBLER_). BE SURE TO LISTEN TO THEIR ORIGINAL VERSIONS AS WELL AS READING THESE RATHER PATHETIC COPIES. THANK YOU, AND I WILL NOW CEASE YELLING.

Thank you. Please review.  



	10. The Half Blood Prince of the Opera

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Fanfic  
_ Potter47_

**_ Ten  
The Half-Blood Prince of the Opera _**

"The _Haaaaaaalf_-Blood Prince of the Opera is _theeeeeeere_...in_side_ your _mind!_"

Pointed silence; so pointed that if one were to touch the silence, it would hurt very much and likely draw blood.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared in what could be called 'stupefied noiselessness' if one did not want to use the words 'stunned silence.'

"What are you talking about, Luna?" Hermione finally said, furrowing her brows. "What Half-Blood Prince of what opera? And why did you capitalise 'opera'?"

"Well," said Luna, "when I read the chapter title, that was the first thing that came to mind."

"To capitalise 'opera'?" asked Hermione uncomprehendingly.

"No! The song, of course."

"Oh," said Hermione. "Right."

Luna began to walk away, and Ron muttered to Harry as she left, "That was a _song?_"

"Apparently," replied Harry.

Luna stopped short, just a few feet away, and for a moment Ron thought she had heard him. But no, she turned around slowly and with a wide-eyed stare. She pointed behind them.

"Look! A chandelier!"

"What?" said Hermione, turning round. "Why would there be a—oh."

For there was a chandelier, lying broken in the middle of the corridor. It seemed indubitably out of place—'indubitably' being one of those words that smart people use to sound even smarter and more insufferable-know-it-all-ish than they already are.

"That chandelier is indubitably out of place," said Hermione.

Luna took a step toward the chandelier, a curious look in her eye (her left one, of course, because the other was looking at Ron, like always). She took another few steps until she was standing just by the chandelier.

Finally, she reached out a hand and touched one of the burnt out lamps, and—

The moment her finger touched the lamp, an invisible organ struck an indubitably loud, indubitably haunting chord, just as the chandelier leaped off the ground as if by way of magical pulley. Luna jumped back in surprise, recognising the note immediately—it is, after all, completely impossible for someone who knows that song to _not_ recognise it from the first note.

As the familiar tune began to weave its way through Luna's ears, the chandelier began to float its way down the corridor, and Luna followed. Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed her as well, none having the faintest idea what was going on.

The chandelier continued to lead the way all the way out the main doors of Hogwarts (it had to turn a bit to fit through; it was, indubitably, huge).

All along the grounds of Hogwarts, this strange procession processed, though that would probably be the wrong way to put it, yes? And the song continued playing itself magically, all the way down to the village of Hogsmeade.

Finally the light fixture seemed to find its destination: the Hogsmeade Opera House, ripped right out of _Harry Potter and the Psychic Serpent._

"Oh, not _that,_" said Hermione, sounding quite annoyed. "Why _that_ story when there are so many others that _don't_ pair me up with all the wrong people?"

"Wrong people?" said Harry and Ron, as well as Neville Longbottom and Viktor Krum (who said "Vrong people?")

"Well, who is the right person?" asked Harry, Ron, and Neville.

"Vell, voo is this right person?" asked Krum.

"Stop that," said Luna suddenly, breaking the moment of confliction. "You two—who just popped up—pop away again," she said, pointing at Neville and Krum, who both abruptly disappeared.

"Neville can Apparate?" Ron said. "Never knew that."

——

The days went by strangely slowly for Hermione...there was a lot that she had to get used to, of course. One thing was that she had been hearing a voice in her sleep, each night, singing. A voice that was strangely familiar and...very deep. The other thing that she now had to get used to was being the main character, which was a rather abrupt change, in her opinion.

The first change was, arguably, more relevant.

Night after night, the voice sang to her and sung to her and soon she was dreaming about that voice, and it was chasing her all over the castle, manifesting itself in the form of a chandelier, and sometimes breaking from song to shout: "I AM THE HALF-BLOOD PRINCE OF THE OOOOOOOPERA!"

And then, after what would have been considered countless nights if Hermione hadn't kept track, the voice manifested itself in a _human_ form for the first time, and this was not in a dream at all, even though she was in bed at the time:

The man—he wore a mask, but she would have known it was Snape even if she didn't know it was Snape, which doesn't _technically _makes sense, but neither do a lot of things—took her by the hand and pulled her to a standing position, slowly and gracefully walking her to the dormitory door, to the staircase... The moment he had touched her hand, the music began, that same recognisable note that she had heard with Luna would-be-countless-days-ago...Hermione began to sing as they walked down the steps:

"In sleep, he sang to me ...  
in dreams, he came ...  
That voice which insults me ...  
Speaks my last name ...

And do I dream again?  
For now I find ...  
the Haaaaalf-Blood Prince of the Opera is there -  
inside my mind ..." 

Snape sung now, as they crossed the common room and into the corridors.  


"Sing once again with me  
our strange duet ...  
My power over you  
grows stronger yet ...

And though you burned my robes,  
and my behiiiind ...  
the Half-Blood Prince of the Opera is there -  
inside your mind ..."

They walked the corridors quickly, and it took a while for Hermione to realise where they were going... but then she recognised the room she had last seen when she first came to Hogwarts, seven years ago. They were under the school now, and the lake shimmered from the torches that hung on the walls.

Snape led Hermione to the lone boat that was docked here, and she sang as she sat inside it:

_"Those who have seen your face,  
draw back in fear. I am the flask you wear,  
Your butterbeer." _

Hermione wondered why she had said that. It seemed an odd thing to say.

Snape didn't seem to think so, for some reason, and he continued:

"Your flavour and my taste...in one combined!"

Hermione was getting the hang of this, she reckoned. They both sang now:

"_The Haaaaaalf-Blood Prince of the Opera is there...inside my mind."_

_"He's there...the Half-Blood Prince of the Opera..."_

The boat entered a cavern now, one that Hermione had never seen before because she had never been there. It was large, and the lighting made the boat itself glow a greenish-yellow. In the centre of this cavern was a circular brick island, and on this island there was a strange basin, standing on a single, clawed leg.

Snape docked the boat, and the music died down as they climbed out of it, and onto the small island. Hermione had a million questions, but sadly many of them involved things entirely unrelated to the matter at hand, so she asked the one that _was _related:

"Why are we here, Professor?"

"Whispers, Miss Granger," said Snape, pulling out his wand and swirling round the basin. It contained a silvery liquid that Hermione would have instantly identified as thoughts if she had ever seen a Pensieve before, which she hadn't.

"Why?"

"Because it has a superior collection of stories," he said, and she was quite positive that she had to have imagined it. He helped her to that conclusion:

"Because we don't want _it _to hear us, and make us start again."

"It?"

"The music. The reason we're singing such nonsensical and noncanonical verses. The reason you sang of the 'flask I wear' when I have never once worn a flask."

"Oh," said Hermione, and everything made sense now...except for everything else. "But why are we here?"

He seemed hesitant, and gazed into the basin for a moment.

"There is another thing that the music is being less than truthful about," he said. "I am not the Half-Blood Prince of the Opera."

Hermione's eyes widened in shock.

"Then who is?"

"No one, you idiot girl," he hissed. "I _am _the Half-Blood Prince, but without all this opera nonsense. The music is self-glorifying, you see, and it wants desperately to be part of the plot..."

"Oh, indubitably," said Hermione, nodding. But then she was confused, and gave that confusion a voice:

"But why are we here?"

Snape continued to look into the basin. "We are here, Miss Granger, because—oh, darn it all."

A soft tone floated up through the air of the underground cave, and it wove its way into the pair's brain (and, more importantly, vocal chords). Against all will, Snape began to sing once again.

"_Night-time sharpens...heightens each sensation...  
Darkness stirs...and wakes imagination...  
Suddenly the writers...  
Forsake pro-canon fighters... Slowly, gently...  
Fanfic shall betray you.  
Watch as it...  
Forgets about the real you.  
Turn your face away,  
From the lemon-writing way,  
Turn your thoughts away from  
Cold!Hermione...  
And please ignore  
the Smutfics of the Night! Close your eyes,  
and think about your darkest dreams—  
do they look  
like those fics in any way?  
Close your eyes,  
let in-character-ness soar!  
And forget  
about what you've read...  
before. Softly, deftly,  
They think I caress you...  
Bloody gits  
think that I wish to possess you.  
Siphon off your mind,  
Let those fantasies rewind,  
Bloody darkness that you know  
You have to fight.  
Ignore them, now,  
the Smutfics of the Night. Let your mind  
start a journey through a  
strange new plot!  
After all, isn't that what fanfic's for?  
Let your quill take you where you long to be!  
And please recall, you do not belong...to me. 'Floating, falling,  
Sweet intoxication!  
Touch me, trust me!  
Savour each sensation!'  
It is just this sort of thing,  
That we must be battling,  
Use our power to against these fics unite...  
And abolish all the Smutfics of the Night!" _

The music settled into silence, and both Hermione and Snape had a new look in their eyes...

"That's it!" Hermione said. "That's what the music is trying to do! It's not just self-glorification after all! It wants us to unite against the smut-fic writers!"

"In case you hadn't noticed," said Snape bitterly, "we can't do that very well, as we are merely characters in a story. For all we know, _this _could be a smut-fic."

Both of them looked away from each other suddenly, as though making sure no one was behind them.

"Thankfully," said Hermione, turning back to Snape, "I don't think it is. If it were, somebody would have mentioned your silky voice already." And then she threw her hands over her mouth, eyes widened in fear.

"Yet another reason to be quiet, then," said Snape, and he looked uneasily over his shoulder once again.

"Now...the reason we are here is a very simple one. Look here."

And then he gestured to the basin, which was now bubbling and frothing like a strawberry smoothie-maker, except it wasn't very strawberry-looking. Hermione gazed into its depths.

There was a book there, but...not so much a book as the _cover _of a book, as though it were taken off the actual book and spread flat.

"But the flaps are blank—" was the first think that came to Hermione's mind, wondering what the book was about.

"The flaps are not important now, Miss Granger," said Snape. "Look at the pictures."

Hermione did. "That's...that's Harry and Dumbledore," said Hermione, rather perplexed. "But what's that fire around them?"

Snape said nothing. He just motioned for her to continue looking.

"And that's...that's _this place_," she said, looking at the left-side of the image and gasping. "That's even our boat! But...where are we?"

"This is a fanfiction, Miss Granger. That image is not. Look at the title."

Hermione did. "_Harry Potter and the...Half-Blood Prince?_"

"Yes," said Snape, nodding.

"You mean, this book thing is about you and Harry?"

"Yes," said Snape, nodding once more.

And Hermione looked from the image in the basin to Snape and back again. She couldn't help asking:

"It's not a smut-fic, is it?"

"NO!" said Snape harshly. "You idiot girl! This is _not_ a fanfiction, I already told you. This is _the real book._ Book six."

"But I thought the story we're in _was _called 'Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,'" said Hermione then, remembering where she had heard that before.

"Yes, exactly; it _was_," said Snape. "It _used _to be called that, but now it's 'Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Fanfic,' to avoid confusion and infringement."

"Oh," said Hermione. "So what exactly are we supposed to do, again?"

"This book will end it all," said Snape. "All the rumours. All the speculation. All the singing—"

"But I thought there were supposed to be seven—"

"Yes, but what do you think the rumours, speculation, and singing are all about? They're all about the Half-Blood Prince aren't they? _Everyone_ doesn't know it is me, Granger, though I suspect you're glad you do, as it is just another bit of information to hold over everyone else's heads...

"So when this book is released, in just about eleven days' time, the world will be right again. The thing is, Miss Granger, I do not wish to wait that long. I want it _now._"

Hermione shivered then, and Snape quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, it's just...bad memories. See chapter five."

"No thanks," said Snape. He turned back to the book. "What we must do is _speed up_ the release of this book. We need it released _tonight_, at midnight, so that everyone can just settle with each other that _of course_ I'm the Half-Blood Prince_, of course_ Black is a vampire, _of course_ you and Weasley will survive, _of course_ Potter will fall in love with the Weasley girl—"

"You sound bitter about that," teased Hermione, smirking. "Are you _sure_ this isn't a smut-fic? Is it at least slash?"

"You know, I can't do this without you, Miss Granger, and it would be so unfortunate if you were...suddenly incapable of assisting me..." Snape snarled.

"All right then," said Hermione, getting down to business. "We need to figure out how to speed up the release of this book, and we need to try to stop the smut-fics in the meantime...that's quite a load for a few hours."

"You'd better be up to the task," said Snape, and then he swirled his wand round into the basin, making the image disappear. "Come. We must return. That fool who runs this castle will be missing you."

——

Hermione's first instinct was to go to the library and research time-travel spells, time-quickening spells, and time-slowing spells (just for the fun of it). She did, in fact, do this, but Snape didn't let her alone nearly enough to be able to absorb the information. And so, they went with his plan instead.

"Are you entirely sure this is safe?" said Hermione, nearly falling backwards off the Thestral. "I mean, I've done it before, but never with another person on..."

"It will be entirely safer," said Snape, turning back with a snarl, "if you would shut up so that I don't have to turn backwards. And please do not hold me that tightly. I thought you were against smut-fics."

Hermione blushed and loosened her grip a bit, and for the second time wished desperately that she could have seen, say, Umbridge die, or a Malfoy, so that she could _see _the bloody beast she was seated on, yet not have to suffer the hardships of loss...

"Tell me again where we're going?"

"Edinburgh," said Snape, and Hermione tried, tried, tried to breathe easier but simply couldn't...so, to pass the time, she attempted to think of a nice, acronymic name for her anti-smut society. She didn't think that would work too well.

"How about the Society for Nutters Obsessed with G-ratings?" she suggested. "But no...that sort of makes us out to be nutters, doesn't it...?"

"Society for the Purification of Indecent Fan Fiction?"

"No."

"Society for the Narrators' Actions to be Persecuted Effectively?"

"_Please_ no..."

Several not-very-well thought-out and vaguely inappropriate acronyms later...

"We're here," said Snape thankfully. "Finally." They stepped off the Thestral and found themselves in front of a rather large home. Hermione wondered who lived there.

"Who lives there?"

"Shh."

Snape marched purposefully up to the door, made a fist, and knocked three times, hard, with his knuckles.

A few moments later, he tried again, and the door was opened. A girl, younger than Hermione, (she looked almost twelve) stood in the doorway, and blinked at them several times.

"Yes?" she said.

"Hello. You must be Jessica. My name is Professor Severus Snape," said Professor Severus Snape, "and this is Hermione Granger. You probably don't know us, but—"

"Mum! It's the crazy people again!" said the girl, (Jessica, apparently, if Snape was correct) and she slammed the door in their face. Hermione could hear her footsteps leading away from the door. She turned to Snape.

"Jessica?"

"Quiet," said Snape, and he pressed his ear to the door. "Someone's coming."

They heard a muffled voice: "Jessica, how many times have I told you not to answer the door to strangers?"

"Well," said Jessica's voice, "I couldn't tell if they were strangers unless I opened the door, could I?"

"That's what the peephole's for—"

"I'm not _tall_ enough for the peephole, _Mum_," said the girl. "And besides, they didn't look dangerous, just crazy."

Hermione saw a sudden bit of light from a circular opening in the door, and then it was replaced with an eyeball. Snape hadn't noticed, for he was still listening intently at the door. The eye blinked several times, and Hermione smiled half-heartedly when she felt the odd feeling of being stared at.

"Jessica, please get a pillow. Mummy might fall over."

The sound of footsteps told them that the girl took that quite seriously, and then the door opened.

A woman stood there, now, Jessica's mother, the voice they had heard, they eye in the peephole. Hermione felt she looked very familiar, like someone she had known when she was a small child, a long-lost relative perhaps. She had blonde hair and very, very wide eyes that would recall Luna Lovegood on a non-surprising day.

"Who are you?" said the woman.

"My name is Professor Severus Snape," said Professor Severus Snape once again, "and this is Hermione Granger."

The woman nodded, and just her daughter arrived with a very large, very soft pillow, she said: "That's what I thought," and fainted dead away.

——

Jo Rowling was, normally, a very difficult person to surprise. For instance, in countless internet webchats she had been perfectly capable of coming up with an answer for every question, that not only didn't give anything away but also did not take three years to write.

However, she _was_ surprised, very much indeed, to see two characters from her very own mind show up on her doorstep and introduce themselves like... like Hoover salesmen.

When Jo came to, she was still rather woozy and it did not help her one bit to see Severus Snape and Hermione Granger—two of her favourite characters—standing over her worriedly.

"You look just like I'd imagined..."

"Shouldn't we?" said Snape, and Hermione seemed nearly as lost as Jo herself was...but probably not really even close. After all, one could prepare to meet one's maker—people did it all the time—but could the maker prepare to meet figments of her own imagination?

"We need your help," said Hermione, who did, at least, seem to be catching on.

"Where's Malfoy?" asked Jessica then, looking curiously out onto the doorstep. "Didn't you bring him along?"

Jo blinked several times, and then stood very hesitantly—once she was mostly certain that she wasn't going to fall over again, she looked feebly at her guests. "Would you like some tea?"

"Sure," said Hermione.

Jo led them through the house to the living-room, which was rather larger than the front hallway and would have been much more comfortable to fall over in. On the way, they passed a rather lonely-looking door with a do-not-disturb sign hanging on the knob. Hermione pointed it out: "Not to be rude, but what's in there?"

"Oh...nothing. Nothing at all. I don't want anyone to... to disturb the carpet in there. That's it."

Jo scolded herself; usually, she was a very good liar, or at least very good at avoiding telling the truth, but today she was rather out-of-sorts.

They sat down and Jo made tea and she brought out the tea and she sat down. "I didn't think I needed to ask what kind you'd like..." she said, but still was a bit worried as she handed the black mug to Snape. He didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed...almost out-of-character. She shivered at the thought.

"You said you needed my help," said Jo.

"Yes," said Snape. "You see, there is a bit of a problem at Hogwarts—"

"Hogwarts?" said Jo. "OK, sorry, but... how exactly are you real?"

"We're not," said Snape, "we are in a fanfiction, as are you." And this explained everything.

"That explains everything," said Jo, nodding. Then she grimaced. "This isn't a smut-fic, is it? Those are so disgusting, I wish that they would just stop—"

"So do we!" said Hermione, suddenly excited. "Would you like to join our anti-smut society? Oh, don't worry, we're not calling it that."

"I'd love to," said Jo, and Hermione seemed very satisfied with herself. "The problem you mentioned...?"

"The speculations are nearly destroying the place," said Snape. "All the out-of-character-ness is killing me. For instance, would I ever really say 'out-of-character-ness'?"

"No," said Jo decisively. "Definitely not."

"And with so many people running around making trouble," continued Snape, "like super!Harry and cruel!Harry and evil!Harry and romantic!Harry and muscled!Harry, it's really hard to keep track of things, especially detentions."

"So what am I supposed to do about it? I only created it all, it's all the fans that have created those things—"

"Yes, but you can cease them, at least temporarily," said Hermione.

"How?"

"By releasing the sixth book and getting everyone away from the internet. It would give us the time we need to rebuild."

"But the book is coming out in eleven—"

"That's not soon enough," said Snape. "It needs to be _tonight_. The in-characters are weakening. We may not last until the sixteenth. And anyway, I'm a very impatient person, no thanks to you."

"But what am I supposed to do about it?"

"Push up the release."

"I can't do that!"

"Then leak the book."

"My publishers would kill me!"

Snape was about to come up with another suggestion, but Hermione butted in: "No, they wouldn't."

Both the others turned to her. "They wouldn't?" said Jo.

"No," Hermione said. "Because you haven't written book seven yet, and that's sure to break all sorts of book-selling records, making those companies a mint. They would never kill their cash cow, that would just be stupid."

These words rang in the silence for a minute, and before long Jo's face had taken on an odd sort of confidence, an odd sort of composure. Her lip became a straight line and her eyes focused.

"All right," she said. "I'll do it."

And then, going up to her computer, she sent a copy of the _Half-Blood Prince _manuscript to a single, obscure person in Norway. From there, the book went from computer to computer in milliseconds, even less, perhaps, and within the hour, ten-point-eight million people had gotten their hands on the _Half-Blood Prince_. Snape wished they wouldn't hold on so hard, though.

Their job complete, and everything right with the world, Snape and Hermione got back on their Thestral and began the long flight back to Hogwarts. Snape very nearly laughed as soon as they were a sufficient distance away from the house.

"Excellent use of Legilimency, Miss Granger," he said, smirking.

"I know, wasn't it?" said Hermione. And then she was silent for a minute. "I'd better start working on some badges once we get back..."

**_ Finis_**

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	11. Government Stole My Half Blood Prince!

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Fanfic  
_ chapter by Neville Longbottom _**__**

Eleven  
The Government Stole My Half-Blood Prince! 

I walked into the room cautiously, wondering if perhaps the perpetrator was hiding in this secluded location. And already, after only this seventeen-word sentence, you are wondering why this story is suddenly first-person, and who the narrator is.

The name's Longbottom—Neville Longbottom. As you would have noticed if you had read this chapter in its entirety from the start. It looks something like this:

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Fanfic  
_ chapter by Neville Longbottom _**__**

Eleven  
The Government Stole My Half-Blood Prince! 

I walked into the room cautiously, wondering if perhaps the perpetrator was hiding in the secluded location. And already, after only this seventeen-word sentence, you are wondering why this story is suddenly first-person, and who the narrator is.

The name's Longbottom—Neville Longbottom. As you would have noticed if you had read this chapter in its entirety from the start. It looks something like this:

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Fanfic  
_ chapter by Neville Longbottom _

**_ Eleven  
The Government Stole My Half-Blood Prince! _**

I walked into the room cautiously, wondering if perhaps the perpetrator was hiding in the secluded location. And already, after only this seventeen-word sentence, you are wondering why this story is suddenly first-person, and who the narrator is.

The name's Longbottom—Neville Longbottom. As you would have noticed if you had read this chapter in its entirety from the start. It looks something like this:

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Fanfic  
_ chapter by Neville Longbottom _**__**

Eleven  
The Government Stole My Half-Blood Prince! 

I walked into the room cautiously, wondering if perhaps the perpetrator was hiding in the secluded location. And already, after only this seventeen-word sentence, you are wondering why this story is suddenly first-person, and who the narrator is.

The name's Longbottom—Neville Longbottom. I assume that after four readings of the opening of this chapter, you have read the line saying that this is a _chapter by Neville Longbottom._ As you now have, I shall move on.

You may have been wondering whether the light goes on _inside_ the flashlight (_torch _to me) when you click the little button twice—or maybe your weren't. Instead, perhaps you were wondering why Potter47 wasn't writing this chapter. The answer is simple: he was taken away from his computer in a dramatic and/or fictional incident while sneaking up to tap a reviewer on the back in Iceland—where he had been sure he would be safe—that may or may have not have led to his captivity in a Greenlandish dungeon that he perhaps is now sharing with the Muggle murderers that he for some reason decided simply _must _have killed Harry Potter's grandparents in _Living inside Yesterday. _Of course, I should not know of _Living inside Yesterday _because I am a fictional character, depicted within the fanfiction itself. I shall, however, ignore this fact.

Now that all author confusion is out of the way (I hear Potter47 would use the word 'confuzzlement' and then state that it was not a word, but should be; however, Obscurus Books' "The Wizard's Dictionary" has introduced it as a word, as you would know if you had kept up with the HBPNN) I will continue with the actual story of this chapter, which I only briefly began in the seventeen-word sentence "I walked into the room cautiously, wondering if perhaps the perpetrator was hiding in this secluded location," that you have read five times now. Well, sixth time's the charm, so I shall now begin the story again from the beginning, without saying 'shall' and without all this yammering gibberish in between productive sentences:

I walked into the room cautiously, wondering if perhaps the perpetrator was hiding in this secluded location.

I had followed him here, to this very classroom. Or perhaps I had followed _her_ here, to this very classroom: it is very dark, and he or she was wearing a particularly out-of-place raincoat and fireman's hat. Or is it a helmet? It's red, that's all I know. Have you ever seen blood once it has been exposed to air but the moon has not yet risen and it is still light out or simply with a sufficient light source? It appears quite...red. Just like the hatelmet (which isn't technically a word, but instead a combination of 'hat' and 'helmet').

Whatever gender the perpetrator may have been, I knew one thing for certain. They worked for the government; or at least, that's what Luna Lovegood had told me.

"I'll bet any mysterious, rain-coated figures with firemen's hatelmets you meet tonight will work for the government, Neville," Luna had said, walking up to me after Herbology.

I contemplated her statement angrily, which is an unnecessary adverb that is not only useless, but factually incorrect, as I was not the least bit angry with her.

"Right," I said, nodding, continuing on to see a professor about some _Mimbletonia._

The _Mimbletonia _discussed is not pertinent to this tale, and so shall not be further discussed here.

"Hem, hem," said a voice behind me, as I exited the location at which the professor and I were discussing the _Mimbletonia _that I have repeatedly mentioned for no reason at all, and I turned around quickly, my heart skipping a beat.

My fears were groundless, however—it was only Luna Lovegood again, back from wherever she lives when she isn't speaking nonsensically to one of us more 'major' characters... yes, of course I count myself among this group... if they ever made a movie about my life, I'd get second billing! Name right on the poster, just a teensy bit smaller than Harry's...

"Hem, hem," said Luna again, almost frustrated-ly, and she was pointing to the ground. She had clearly been trying to get my attention... clearly wanted me to see whatever it was that she had found on the ground... it must have been something to do with the perp. ('Perp' is a shortened version of 'perpetrator' that is used for ease of conversation between Aurors, in case you didn't know.)

"What is it?" I asked, and she _Hem, hem_-ed again as if it were clearly going to help me see whatever it was she was pointing at, as if she hadn't gotten my attention yet...

I got to my knees and began looking very closely at the spot she was pointing at...there was nothing.

I looked up at her, confused and puzzled. She pointed again. "Hem, hem!"

And then I let out a breath of frustration, realising just what she was talking about.

"The hem of your _robe, _Luna? What's so great about that?"

"I love you," she said, though I'm not sure if it was true or if she was just changing the subject—or, perhaps, that her loving me was actually what was so great about the hem of her robe...

A light fell onto Luna as I stood, a whole new light that I had never seen before—I didn't know where it had come from, but it made her glow ethereally and I realised just how well-suited the two of us really are...

...and this is why I trust that Luna was in fact correct when she said, "I'll bet any mysterious, rain-coated figures with firemen's hatelmets you meet tonight will work for the government, Neville." I'll believe anything she says, now that we're in love...

(Though she may not like the fact that I love ellipses just as much as I love her... perhaps even more...)

To snip to the hunt, I loved Luna and she loved me... we're as happy as two can be... and now I return to the dark, secluded classroom that I had chased the Hatelmet-ed Fiend, as we shall now refer to him or her. Luna loves the word 'fiend,' because it's really very close to 'friend' and she thought that was funny. She especially liked it when it was capitalised.

"Who are you?" I called out into the seclusion. I could _feel _that the Hatelmet-ed Fiend was here, in this room, I could just _taste _the one who had taken my precious Trevor away from me..._my Trevvvvvor..._

"No one," said the voice, and it was distinctly female, and...distinctly something else, too, though I couldn't place it right then. "I am no one at all. Please believe me, or I'll have to do something you won't like."

"Like scream?" I suggested. "I hate it when people scream."

"YES, LIKE SCREAM!" screamed the voice. "I WILL SCREAM AND SCREAM AS LOUD AS POSSIBLE UNTIL YOU BELIEVE THAT I DON'T EXIST AND YOU FOLLOWED ME FOR NO REASON AND CERTAINLY I COULDN'T HAVE STOLEN TREVOR!"

"Stop it!" I thought of penguins then, for some reason, and I feel that if I could reason out _why _I had thought of penguins, I would know a very great deal more about what I was dealing with.

"NOW CLOSE YOUR EYES AND COUNT TO NINETEEN OR I'LL KEEP SCREAMING!"

I did so: "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen. Ready or not, here I—"

I opened my eyes, and she was gone.

Days went by, and I didn't see hide nor hair of the Fiend, though of course the Fiend was a person and persons are not usually referred to as having hides as much as animals are, and the Fiend was Hatelmet-ed, deftly obscuring my view of his or her hair.

I wondered then if the distinctly female voice could possibly have _been_ the Fiend... if it had been, then that would be good news, as it not only meant narrowing down my search by approximately fifty per cent, but also it meant that I could simply call the Fiend a 'she' and refer to the Fiend's hair as 'her hair' instead of 'his or her hair.'

Yes, I was making progress.

And then, despite all evidence that this whodunit story was, essentially, only beginning, it came to its climax, rather anticlimactically.

I was walking down the hallway, you see, and I was looking at the hem of my robes and thinking about how much I loved Luna, and then suddenly I walked into someone and I heard a _scream_, and a _crash_, and a _croak._

I looked around from my rather inconvenient new vantage point of nose-pressing-into-flagstone, and I saw Trevor, just hopping merrily away from the two of us (myself and the other participant in the aforementioned collision).

I yelled, "Trevor!" and tried to scramble to my feet, but I heard a spell cast from behind me and it hit and I couldn't scramble to my feet because my feet were scrambled already, and incredibly edible-looking.

And from my slightly more convenient vantage point of head-on-flagstone-with-eyes-pointing-in-one-direction, I could see the other collisionist leap over me almost as though she (for I saw that she wore a Hatelmet and therefore must have been the Fiend) were a toad herself. She scrambled after Trevor, and (rather inconveniently for me, I might add) her feet did not turn into eggs.

Then, rather conveniently for me if I had had a very twisted sense of humour, she fell down on the flagstone of the corridor, allowing me to catch up to her (my feet had returned in their normal unyellow form).

And I pulled off her Hatelmet which conveniently (for her) covered her face, and...

...my heart stopped in my chest, yet I somehow did not die...

..._could it really be...?_

It was Luna. But that wasn't the bad part. The bad part was that when she had fallen, she had landed on Trevor and he was now the world's first toad-flavoured pancake. At least, I think he's the first—some people do, after all, have a very twisted sense of humour.

"Luna! How could you? I mean..." I said, bewilderedly betrayed. "You stole Trevor!"

"He was the Half-Blood Prince," said Luna, as though this would justify her actions.

"But you stole him! And then... you squashed him!"

"Oh, he'll be all right."

"But he's flat as a pancake!"

Luna furrowed her brow. "Do we really call them pancakes in England? That seems far-fetched to me."

"No, we do," I informed her. "But ours are even flatter than American ones, almost crepe-like, so that just proves how badly you damaged Trevor."

"But he'll be fine," said Luna.

"But he's almost crepe-like!"

Luna rolled her eyes, rolled over, and lifted the flattened, not-quite round form that was Trevor off of the floor—it was rather difficult, actually, and she was lucky she kept a spare spatula in her robes. Then she lifted him to her face, and kissed him right on his flattened toad-lips...

Nothing happened.

Luna's eyes widened. She glanced back and forth shiftily.

"Um, Neville," she said, biting her lip. "Do you have a computer at home?"

I shook my head. "And neither do you, you're a witch." Luna ignored this.

"Would you like a mouse-pad?" she asked, and she handed Trevor out towards me—I didn't take him right off, and so she tossed him at me, taking me off-guard.

Then she ran for it. What, exactly, I don't know, but she sure ran for it hard. She turned round a corner, and she was gone.

I stared after her, mouth open in incomprehension, and then looked down at my almost crepe-like toad. And then I wondered something I'd never thought of before:

_Why on earth did I agre_e_ to write this chapter? If I hadn't, none of this would have ever happened, and Trevor would still be alive..._

And then my eyes widened.

I wrote this chapter! Oh, God...I'm a murderer! I did it! I killed Trevor myself, because I had Luna fall on him! I wrote it! It was me! And it's my fault that exclamation points are endangered! I have no regard for the diminishing punctuation population!

And I reeled from this knowledge, dizzy with thoughts, and fainted dead away on the floor.

Then I woke up, and wrote all this down, and sent it off to Greenland where Potter47 is going to upload it for me, because I don't have a computer because I am a wizard. Don't ask me why he has internet access from a dungeon. I don't even know what internet access is.

The end. Hope you liked it. It was really one of the most distressing encounters of my life. Pleasure to be of service. Really terrible feelings, didn't feel better for weeks... you think I might be able to do this again sometime? Maybe for book seven? Hope JKR doesn't kill me off... please review, I'd love to hear what you think.

The end.


	12. The Night Before Book Six

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Fanfic  
_ Potter47 _

**_ Twelve  
The Night Before Book Six _**

_'Twas the night before book six, and all through the fandom,  
Not a reader was stirring, to post something random;_

_The fans were all dressed up, with scars and black hair,  
In hope that the sixth book soon would be theirs;_

_The children awake, none asleep in their beds,  
While visions of hippogriffs danced in their heads;_

_Some wore black glasses, and tall wizard hats,  
While others pretended as Polyjuiced cats..._

Harry awoke with a start in his bedroom at Number Four, Privet Drive after a very strange, vaguely musical dream. He looked at his clock—oh, he'd slept late. It was nearly noon. A thought ran through his mind:

What colour underwear am I wearing?

And then he remembered, and another thought ran through his mind, even faster:

What day is it?

And then he remembered—it was July 15.

Harry blinked. Something important... something was today. He couldn't quite recall...

Getting out of bed, Harry's feet slid into the stuffed-owl slippers that Luna Lovegood had sent him for some reason he couldn't understand, causing Hedwig to look at him with a very hurt expression, as though inquiring whether he thought it was some sort of sick joke.

Stretching, Harry walked over to his calendar, thinking perhaps he could remember what today was. He moved his finger along the weeks, and finally came to a stop on the fifteenth.

_Nothing, _thought Harry. He could have sworn there was something... he let his hand fall to his side, and his gaze rested on the little box directly to the right—the one with a little "16" in the upper-left-hand corner and the letters "HBP!" in a very large, bright, purple print with little balloons all round.

_That's not it..._ thought Harry, but then he remembered: _Today's Hedwig's birthday!_

He walked over to Hedwig's cage, which was empty, and pulled a piece of parchment off the desk, finding his purple marker and writing: _Happy 5th Birthday, Hedwig! If you were American and human, you'd be going to kindergarten this year! Good for you! PS: I'm sorry about the slippers._ He folded it up into a card and stood it upright in the cage, with a grin. He breathed in, and breathed out.

And then his eyes widened. He dashed back over to the calendar.

"Tomorrow's the sixteenth!" he shouted. He was very excited now. "_Half-Blood Prince is coming out tomorrow!_" He very nearly bounced up and down, but didn't manage it because neither his feet nor the floor were very rubbery. And so he climbed up onto his bed and jumped up and down a couple times before he was reminded very painfully that the Dursleys had decided to put ceiling fans in all the rooms of Number Four. This, of course, was probably why.

"I CAN'T WAIT!" he shouted, rubbing his head, and then he was answered by a mystical voice from somewhere outside his room:

"STOP BLOODY SCREAMING!" said the mystical voice. "YOU'LL WAKE UP MARGE! AND SHE'S IN MAJORCA!"

Harry realised now that the voice wasn't very mystical at all, and instead was Uncle Vernon's. But Harry couldn't calm down... in less than a day, he would know who the Half-Blood Prince is!

—was!

Er...

He went down to the kitchen and explained this to his uncle, so that he would understand what Harry had been screaming about, because Harry didn't want to be inconsiderate of his uncle. Vernon's eyes lit up like little... light bulbs:

"Really?" He had an eager look in his eye, and laughed. "Good news, then! You'll be out of here the quickest yet! The author said so herself! You'll be gone by chapter two!"

And now Vernon very nearly bounced up and down, but couldn't for the same reasons as Harry, in addition to the fact that he was sitting down.

Unable to suit his bouncing needs, Vernon threw his plate up in the air in his glee, and it hit the ceiling fan in such a way that it not only managed not to break, but it ricocheted so that it hit Harry very hard off the head, knocking him out. His last thought:

Yay! Time flies when you've lost consciousness!

——

Harry's eyes opened and he looked round. He was... in his bedroom, at Number Four, Privet Drive, and he was lying flat on the bed. What time was it...?

_Five o'clock_, said the clock on his bedside table.

_Thank you, _replied Harry.

_You're welcome, _said the clock on his beside table.

Harry looked up then, and saw Dumbledore leaning over him. This was something rather peculiar, as Dumbledore was not often a) in Privet Drive, and b) leaning over him.

"Wake up, Harry!" said Dumbledore urgently. "We have got to leave this house this minute!"

"Then why'd you bother coming...?"

"The Dementors are coming, the Dementors are coming!" said Dumbledore.

"But _we're _British," said Harry, and Dumbledore blinked.

"Hurry, Harry!"

"Why?"

"We're going to Headquarters, right now!"

"What...?" said Harry, and then everything sort of came into focus. "No! I can't!"

"Why not? We must...!"

"But I've pre-ordered _Half-Blood Prince!_ I won't get it if I'm at Grimmauld Place—"

"Oh, don't worry about that, Harry," said Dumbledore. "We've got plenty of copies reserved ourselves. Don't you think we want to know who the Half-Blood Prince is just as much as you do?"

"Oh," said Harry. "Right then. Let's go!"

And they went, leaving the Dursleys to deal with the Dementors themselves.

Arriving in Grimmauld Place, Harry asked Dumbledore: "Who do you think the HBP is?"

"Oh, I don't know," said Dumbledore. "It could be me, couldn't it? Or my brother, Aberforth? I just don't know... go find your friends, Harry."

Harry walked up to the room he had stayed in the previous summer and found the rather unpleasant sight of Ron and Hermione snogging on his bed.

"Hey!" said Harry. "Stop snogging on my bed!"

They jumped away from each other, smoothing down their robes (their _own _robes, not each other's, silly).

"Sorry, mate," said Ron sheepishly. "We wanted to get some last-minute snogging in before book six comes out and disproves the 'ship."

"Oh, I guess that's all right then," said Harry thoughtfully. "This will be your last chance, after all..."

"Thanks mate," said Ron, and he looked round awkwardly. "Would you mind...?"

"Don't be stupid, Ron," said Hermione. "Harry's here now, snogging's over."

"It is?" said Ron, and then he looked very worried: "You're not going to snog _him _now, are you? I mean, that was disproved ages ago, I thought—"

"Of course not!" said Hermione indignantly. "I'd never snog against canon, I thought you knew that! Why do you think I haven't gone after Snape yet?"

Ron blinked. "Actually, I hadn't thought about that at all, either way—"

"So, Harry," said Hermione eagerly, "who do you think the Half-Blood Prince is going to be?"

Harry shrugged. "I dunno. Seamus maybe?"

"No, that would seem contrived," said Hermione surely. "I think it's Snape—after all, we don't know if he's pureblood, we all just assume—"

"What's with you and Snape today?" said Ron, and Hermione quite pointedly did not answer. "I think it's You-Know-Who—"

"Don't you even _read _JKR's website?" said Hermione incredulously. "She said right out that it wasn't You-Know-Who—"

"Neville, then. He's getting important, isn't he?"

"But he's pureblood!"

"So?"

"_So? _What do you mean _so?_"

Crack!

"You guys talking about the HBP?" said Fred, stepping down off of Ron's legs; perhaps he did landed there on purpose nowadays, as it seems rather unlikely that he hasn't improved at all at Apparating.

"Yeah," said Harry. "Who do you think it is—"

"Oh, we're not taking it too seriously," said George, popping up on the other bed. "It could be anyone, couldn't it? But we're betting on Po Turforti-Seén," he said with a smirk.

"Who?" said Harry.

"A new character," said George.

"YOU KNOW ABOUT NEW CHARACTERS?" said Hermione incredulously.

"'Course not," said Fred. "He just _represents _a new character."

"Huh?" said Ron.

"Here, read this." George flicked his wand at Ron, who winced, but all that happened was a stack of papers.

_How can a stack of papers happen? _thought Harry. And then he noticed that they had _appeared _on Ron's lap.

"What's this?" said Ron.

"_Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince,_" said Hermione with bated breath. "You have the manuscript? How did you get it?"

"It's not the manuscript," said Fred. "It's a fanfiction."

"But the title—"

"—is misleading. The author changed it later on, to _...the Half-Blood Fanfic_," said George.

"But what is it?" said Harry.

"It's... a theory, basically," said Fred. "Each chapter is another guess at the HBP. The first one, Po Turforti-Seén, represents an original character. The second, Madam Pince—"

"_Pince?_" said Hermione. "But how could—"

"You have to read it. But Pince represents someone that no one would ever guess. The third, Mrs Norris, represents non-humans. Then it's Hagrid—"

"Who did he represent?" said Ron.

The twins blinked. "_Hagrid_, he represented _Hagrid_, obviously—" said George.

Fred continued: "Then Lupin, Finnegan, You-Know-Who—but he wasn't really the HBP—and then Dumbledore, Snape, and Neville's toad—"

"But Trevor's a non-human as well," pointed out Hermione.

"But Trevor was actually a guess. You know, the Muggle frog-prince thing—"

"But he's a toad."

Fred rolled his eyes at her, and continued once again: "Just read it. It's very illuminating. Sort of brings the whole debate into perspective at well..."

They _popped _out of the room, and Hermione grabbed the papers from Ron. "I'll read it first," she said, and began to, right then. _"On the fourteenth of October..._"

——

"So, what's tonight's meeting about?" said Tonks, breaking the silence in the crowded basement kitchen.

"The Half-Blood Prince," said Dumbledore gravely.

"But shouldn't we talk about the Dementors that are attacking Privet Drive?" suggested Molly.

"No," said Dumbledore. "The Half-Blood Prince."

"What about him?" said Bill Weasley. Although rather impertinent to this tale, Bill was very thankful to be safe in Order headquarters, because every time he stepped foot outside its magically protected interior, he was attacked by Muggle fan-girls. He never understood it—he had only appeared a very few times in the whole series; why were people so obsessed with him?

"We're going to have a pool," said Dumbledore.

"A pool? Where would we have a pool? There's no room for a pool—"

"Sorry, a _poll_," clarified Dumbledore. "We're going to have a poll. We're going to see who everybody thinks the Half-Blood Prince is, so that we can eliminate him for being too obvious. Severus, you first."

Bill turned to look at Snape, and furrowed his brow. At least _Snape _had a proper reason for his legions of screaming fan-girls—he'd been _in _the damn book, for god's sake, he'd been in _all _the books. And he'd been in the films as well, and all Bill had been was a moving picture in Egypt—

"I believe that it will be someone no one can guess," said Snape, "thus making this whole poll thing vastly unnecessary to the point that we should cease it this instant."

Yes, Snape had a reason, and it didn't hurt that the nonsense he always went on about seemed to _flow _like the liquids in his potions... Bill didn't have a clue what he was saying, half the time, but it certainly sounded good.

"Nice try, Severus," said Dumbledore, marking a piece of parchment with Snape's guess. "Minerva?"

"I think it'll be you, Albus," said McGonagall.

Why didn't _McGonagall _have any obsessed fans, anyway? She could _turn into a cat_, for crying out loud, and she was such a more developed character than Bill anyway... though he did suppose that seventy year old women didn't have many fan-girls...

"Remus?"

"I think it's going to be a new character," said Lupin.

And HIM! Why didn't Lupin have _nearly _the number of fan-girls as Bill? But...everybody _loved _Lupin, come on, he was so cool... Bill didn't understand it at all.

"Molly?"

"I have to agree with Severus. We're never going to guess it. I mean, I was quite sure I was going to be killed off last time, and she pulled Sirius out of the blue—"

Now _Sirius_, he was a fan-girl force to be reckoned with... but Bill still didn't understand. _Why _was Sirius so popular? Did girls love grey eyes so much that they would obsess over a character that _might _turn out to have them (and eventually did, posthumously)? Or did people love dogs _that much?_

Everything was backwards, as far as fan-girls were concerned, as far as Bill was concerned. It just didn't make sense, none of it. Biting his lip, Bill wondered if, perhaps, he were to cut off the ponytail, it would help—

"Arthur?"

The discussion continued rather in this same fashion, and does not need to be described in further detail.

——

Harry was walking to the loo when he spotted Ginny walking towards the stairs.

"Gin!" he said. "Hang on!"

"What?" said Ginny, turning round.

"Who do you think the Half-Blood Prince is?" said Harry.

"Bill," she said.

"Bill?" said Harry. "But he's pureblood, isn't he?"

"So?"

"You'd better not let Hermione hear you talking like that—"

"I mean, so what if we _think _he's pureblood? How are we to know that he really is?"

Harry blinked. "Are you saying Bill's not your brother?"

"Am I?" said Ginny mysteriously.

"You sound like Luna," said Harry, and Ginny giggled.

"Yeah, I know, I've been practicing, it's rather fun actually—"

——

"There!" said Dumbledore. "That's everybody! I'll go tally the votes!"

He did so, and pronounced with a very final and booming voice: "The person with the most votes is... 'someone no one would ever think of.' Thus, we have successfully eliminated this possibility, and therefore the Half-Blood Prince _is _someone we would think of!"

"Oh, that's wonderful," muttered Snape. "That accomplished so very much..."

"Perhaps we should go again?" said Tonks. "I mean, now that we know it'll be someone we expect, we all probably have different ideas—we need to vote again."

"Good idea, Nymphadora! Let's do that! Severus?"

"I still believe it will be someone we don't expect—"

"Ah, but we've already proved that wrong—"

"No, we haven't. You can't _prove it wrong_—"

"But we just did—"

"I'm leaving," said Snape angrily.

"Wait!" said Bill urgently, and he looked round a minute before saying, "Fan-girls," in a frightened voice.

"Oh," said Snape. "Right." He sat back down, deflated.

"Minerva?"

"I still think it's you—"

——

Hermione knocked twice on the twins' door, and it opened.

"This is all complete nonsense!" said Hermione, throwing the papers at the twins.

"What is?" said Fred.

"The story we gave you?"

"No, the paper it was printed on—" Hermione began sarcastically, but then hesitated. "Yeah, that too! Where'd you get Muggle printer paper, anyway? Or a Muggle printer, for that matter?"

"From Dad," said George. "But the story—"

"It's not nonsense," said Fred. "If you want nonsense, read _The Ultimate Unofficial Guide to the Mysteries of Harry Potter_. THAT'S nonsense..."

"Crikey, look at the time!" said George, then, pointing at the clock.

_Eleven-thirteen_, said the clock.

"Goodness!" said Hermione. "It's almost midnight!"

She ran from the room, wondering where the time had gone, and poked her head into Ginny's room on the way, to let her know—but Ginny was...er...busy.

"Ginny?" said Hermione incredulously. "Harry? What are you doing?"

"Snogging," said Ginny after a moment. "What does it look like?"

"But you don't think JKR's going to prove your ship wrong, do you? I've thought that this book was when it was actually going to happen—"

"Why does JKR need to be disproving our ship for us to snog, Hermione?" said Ginny. "Now go away."

"Oh, sorry," said Hermione, and she left.

Hermione ran and ran and ran some more, and then tripped and fell down a flight of stairs, but she got up and kept going because _Half-Blood Prince _was almost here, and such trivial things like pain and broken limbs didn't mean anything anymore.

She charged into the basement kitchen, because another thing that didn't matter anymore were Locking and Imperturbable Charms.

"It's almost here!" she shouted, and all the faces of the room turned towards her.

"Really?" said Dumbledore. "Wow, time flies when you're debating the identity of a mysterious character..."

——

They were all, somehow, smushed into the front room of Grimmauld place. Smushed, of course, is not a word, but it _should be_, shouldn't it? And if you wanted it to be, it _could be, _couldn't it? What did it matter what other people and dictionaries said? If you want _smushed _in your language, you can damn well put it there—

As they were smushed into a rather small place, it was no surprise when someone brushed up against Mrs Black's portrait, and she began to scream, the noise of which could not drown out the hushed murmurings of the rest of the room, despite those murmurings being 'hushed.'

"BLOODY HALF-BLOODS!" shouted the portrait. "BESMIRKING THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS EVEN THOUGH "BESMIRKING" IS NOT A WORD, BUT SHOULD BE!"

"No, it is," Hermione told the portrait. "You just spelt it wrong—"

"QUIET, EVERYONE!" shouted Dumbledore then. He was looking out the window by the door. "IT'S MIDNIGHT! THE BOOKS SHOULD BE HERE ANY MINUTE!"

"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO SPEAK THAT WAY IN MY CHAMBERS!" shouted Mrs Black's portrait. "I DEMAND THAT YOU DE-CAPITALISE THIS INSTANT!"

"NO!" said Dumbledore. "I CAN BE CAPITALISED IF I WANT TO, THIS IS A SPECIAL OCCASION—"

"SHHH!" said the portrait.

"NO!"

This went on for some time—longer than expected, actually, as the crowded occupants of that front room were not aware that the book would be coming by Muggle post in the morning. And so, they waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And then, when there were no more tables to serve, they walked around and asked if everyone was enjoying their meal.

And when someone said no, they smiled and kept walking.

And then it came, at eight fifty-six in the morning. A truck drove slowly up the street, and Dumbledore, who was still playing look-out, said, "POSTMAN AHOY!"

And then the postman drove slowly by the house, and then, in reverse, slowly past it again. Dumbledore could not understand it, and he was beginning to sweat with anticipation.

"COME ON, DAMMIT!" he said. "BRING US OUR BOOKS!"

"Hang on!" said Hermione. "Isn't the house charmed? They can't even see it—"

And Dumbledore, realising she was correct, swung open the door and made for the postman himself. The postman, alarmed by robed, bearded figure jumping out of midair, began to drive away very quickly.

"OH NO YOU DON'T!" shouted Dumbledore. "_ACCIO POST-TRUCK!_" A pause. "Oh, damn that was a mistake."

The post truck spiralled through the air towards Dumbledore, who managed to deflect it with his hand because of his magical powerfulness which is _ACTUALLY A WORD._

Deflected, the truck crashed into Number Twelve, which was, to any passing Muggles, quite the sight, as you might imagine. The postman fell out and was lucky to be caught by the mob of Order members standing below.

"_ACCIO HALF-BLOOD PRINCE!_" said Dumbledore, and when nothing happened, as though it were taking a very long time for the summoned thing to be summoned, he realised his mistake and said, "_ACCIO HALF-BLOOD PRINCE BOOKS!_"

Dozens of blue-and-orange books flew threw the air to Dumbledore, along with two black and purple ones, which he handed to Snape and Hermione. He passed the rest of them among the group, and once everyone had them, everyone sat down, in the middle of Grimmauld Place, and began to read.

**

THE END

**

This is, as you could probably guess, _actually_ the end. Tomorrow is the real book, and then we will know who the HBP is for real. This story was fun while it lasted though, my only joy on an otherwise bleak series of escapes from Greenland...

However, I do plan a sequel. It is to be called "Harry Potter and Whatever the Seventh Book's Called" and will begin whenever I get a chance, after HBP. It will explore the many different titular possibilities for the seventh book, as well as possible plot points. Be on the lookout for it.

Please review this story. And spread the word, quick! Now that it's complete, I'm sure loads of people will want to read it, and they have so little time before the story transforms itself into an obsolete theory mill...so hurry! If you enjoyed this story, review it and tell friends about it! And send me bail!


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